


Innocent Shadows

by IShouldBe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marriage Law Challenge, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 23:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 43,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3306584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShouldBe/pseuds/IShouldBe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You'll sort everything. Gods, Hermione, you fought five Death Eaters to a standstill *and* defended and saved Snape."</p><p>"Professor Snape."</p><p>Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. That." He waved his hand at the bed. "So this? Piece of cake." </p><p>Marriage Law. SS/HG, HEA...always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own Harry Potter. If I did Severus Snape would be alive and well. Obviously...

* * *

 

The owl landed in the middle of the breakfast table. With the flutter of soft, silent wings and a rather arrogant hoot, it strutted down the wide table towards Hermione. A heavy sheaf of letters trailed behind it.

"Expecting something?" Ron quickly moved a rack of toast and a butter dish from the bird's path. It hooted again and clicked its beak. Dark eyes fixed on him, and found him...lacking. "Stupid bird," he muttered as Hermione grinned.

"You've been judged, Ron."

"Ha, ha."

His face twisted, a splotch of red darkening his cheeks and Hermione held back a wince. Another day of soothing his ego spread out before her. Focusing on the outstretched leg of the arrogant little owl broke into her rising sourness.

The bird nipped at the edge of her plate and she cut a strip of bacon. "Pushy little thing, aren't you?" Her reply was a hoot and a brief butt of its silk soft head against her palm, before it turned, batted its wings at Ron and soared out of the kitchen window of 12 Grimmauld Place.

"Even owls are having a go now." Ron pushed his plate away, scraped back his chair and clambered to his feet. "I need to pack." And with that, he left her alone in the kitchen with her bundle of letters.

Hermione pinched at the bridge of her nose and let the heavy and wearied sigh escape her. The war against Voldemort was over, had been for four months now. A stack of quiet days followed that didn't revolve around fear and death. A new time where she didn't have to watch her thoughts, her words...a time when she thought her life could begin again.

But, as usual, she expected too much. When had her life ever been simple or easy? And Ron was the prime example. Finally,  _finally_  she'd succeeded in getting him to see her as more than his bushy haired and brainy friend and they'd snatched a kiss in the midst of battle. Something sweet and just that little bit wild...

She touched her lips at the memory, a small smile ticking up her mouth for a brief moment. Her smile fell away. And on the very same day, she'd driven a wedge between them that Ron could simply not ignore. Eventually two wedges. She'd saved Professor Severus Snape. And received the Order of Merlin for it. First Class. That last one bit Ron in the arse more than anything.

Oh, she'd clung to the idea of them still being together after the Snape debacle, but when Kingsley awarded her the wizarding world's highest honour-compared to Ron's Second Class-any thought Ron had of a future with her died.

It had been a long and miserable week with the medal burning a hole in her knicker drawer.

Crookshanks rubbed against her shins and she reached down to scratch his ugly, orange head. "You still love me, don't you, Crooks?" His machine gun purr deepened, causing her to smile and the constriction to ease around her heart. "Love you too."

She dropped the last of her bacon to the floor for him to snack on, wiped her hands and turned her attention back to the letters.

They were stacked together and tied with a Ministry seal. Hermione frowned, her fingertip stroking over the heavy 'M'. They would leave for Hogwarts in the morning, bound to spend the autumn term there on an accelerated NEWTs course. Were the letters to do with that?

She broke the seal and the first letter unfurled itself. An officious, female voice cut the air,  _"Miss Hermione Granger-"_

Hermione wrapped a  _muffliato_  around herself, the flick of her wand second nature. A wry smile twisted her mouth. It wasn't necessary. Only Harry and Ron were upstairs-the Weasley tribe returning to a rebuilt Burrow-packing or in Ron's case, sulking. Still, she left the spell in place.

 _"-You are here by notified, that in accordance with the new law ratified today, you are now compelled to accept one of the attached tenders."_  
  
She blinked. Her mouth opened, shut, opened again and still her voice failed her. She drew in a thick breath. "New law? What new law?"

The letter couldn't answer her, but it did continue.  _"Details as follows. You, Hermione Jean Granger, Order of Merlin, First Class, time-turner influenced 19, pupil of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, have been found compatible with no less than 20 wizards. Congratulations!_

_"Please choose and sign one of the proposals at your earliest convenience. You have 30 days before a decision will be made for you._

_"Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials! Margerat Greenbowl. Junior Minister for Wizarding Marriages."_  With a crackling flourish the letter refolded itself and plopped back to the table.

Hermione stared at it. Had that really just happened? Was it real? Her hand shook as she separated the pile of other letters -the tenders- that had come with the Ministry document. Each envelope was stamped with a muted crest, a pale brown against the yellow of the parchment. Compatible wizards? What the hell was going on?

Another owl swooped in and dropped a rolled copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  into her lap, soaring away before she could blink. Automatic fingers pulled it apart and she gaped at the headline. What on earth had the wizarding world been doing whilst she'd been enjoying a quiet summer?

_Marriage Law passed unanimously by Wizengamot_

She skimmed the article, hardly able to take in the insanity. The war and inadequate birthrates, the rise of squibs and stillbirths. The fear of the disappearance of magic. Leading to a law that planned to harness muggleborn -her- ovaries for the good of wizardkind.

She sank back onto her seat, her heart thudding, the front page of the  _Prophet_  glaring at her. Kingsley's serious face and the grim features of the colleagues surrounding him, mocked her. She'd fallen into another dimension. That had to be the answer. Fallen into a world that had taken complete leave of its senses.

They wanted her to choose a husband in the next thirty days? She glared at the pile of letters, hating every single one of them.

Like hell she would!

 

* * *

Let me know what you think :)  
 ****


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

"Hermione?" Harry knocked twice on her open bedroom door and poked his head around. He gave her a brief smile. "You've had a glaring of owls."

Hermione willed herself to look at him. Sat on her bed, her body was tight, her knees drawn hard up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Spread out over the faded quilt were the twenty unopened letters. Magic thrummed through them, the echo of it in her blood. They matched something within in her, she could almost taste it, like a deep sweetness on her tongue, and for the past hour she had fought the compulsion to open the bloody things.

"Hermione?" Harry stepped into the room, slow, cautious, as if she were a hippogriff he would bow to. The thought pulled a bleak smile. "What are they?"

"Did you see today's  _Prophet_?"

"That insane law?"

Her laughter was brittle. "And these are my insane offers."

"Gods," he murmured, inching closer to her bed. He stood still beside her and stared. "And you have to pick one?"

"One is enough."

She pressed her fingers to her mouth, unsure whether she was going to laugh or cry. At least Harry was back. She couldn't begin to imagine having this conversation with a pissed off and sulking Ron. Was he one of the boys -men- who were magically compatible with her? Her throat tightened. Would she chose him if he were? And what if he  _wasn't_  there? How could their already tenuous friendship survive  _that_  insult?

She pushed down further thoughts of Ron. One problem at a time. "They want me to open them. But I can't. Not yet. I want a copy of the law. There has to be a loophole. It's been rushed-"

"Then wait downstairs. We're overrun with owls. I think Mrs Weasley has sent six already."

"Yes. Maybe Kingsley has found the courage to answer my questions. He should've got my harried owl about two hours ago." She unwound her body and let her bare feet touch the floor. Her toes curled into the thickness of the rug. "I saw him last week, Harry. We all did. And nothing. Not a flicker as he pinned that medal to me. No hint he planned to offer me to, to...them." She caught her fingers in her hair. "I didn't fight the darkness for this travesty."

"We'll sort everything." He took her hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "You'll sort everything. Gods, Hermione, you fought five Death Eaters to a standstill  _and_  defended and saved Snape."

"Professor Snape."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yes. That." He waved his hand at the bed. "So this? Piece of cake.

"I'm glad you think so." She took a hard step away from the pile of letters and even as difficult as it was to leave them, their influence faded. A little. Magic was a strange beast. Thankfully, she closed the door on their pull and let out a slow breath. "Is this going to affect you?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, and even in the shadow of the passage, his expression was sheepish. "Ginny and I, we sort of eloped yesterday..."

Hermione blinked. "You  _knew_?"

Pain twisted hard in her chest and her hands shook. She fisted them to fight the anger, the  _betrayal_  firing through her blood. A metallic stink swept around her and her head felt dangerously light. Harry's eyes darted nervously at her hair. Yes, she was sparking.

"You  _knew_  and you didn't tell me?"

Harry backed away. "I didn't know. I didn't, Hermione, honest." He lifted his hands, his fingers wide. "Molly was dictating everything. The time. The place. Guests. Who would bind us." A wry smile pulled at his mouth. "I pointed out I wasn't marrying  _her_ -"

Hermione snorted. "I bet that went down well."

Harry let out a long slow breath. "You can't imagine. Anyway. I'm of age, and Ginny is well...close. We wanted something for ourselves." He winced and caught his fingers in his untidy hair.

Yes, she needed the reminder that he had a choice. Hermione glanced back to her room and even through the closed door the array of envelopes tugged at her, their magic pushing and pulling against her own. She had a choice too. In a way. A very unfair and bitter way.

She shoved down her sourness and willed a smile. "Congratulations." She drew him into a hard hug. "I mean it." She pulled back and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "And also you're insane. How are you going to deal with your marriage in school? And what about Molly? She'll try to have it annulled-"

Harry reddened and pressed his lips into a thin line. "Not possible."

Hermione tutted and swiped at his arm. "Naughty boy." She took a back step and gave him another smile. "Downstairs." She pushed him towards the stairwell and followed him, resisting the urge to look back to her room. "Have you told no one?"

"You're the first."

"Not even..." She waved back along the dark landing to Ron's room. It was easier to lose herself in Harry's life than the nightmare that her own had become. "He's never been exactly happy about you two."

"No." Harry sighed. "We're going to get it in the neck for this. But too many others have always had a say in my life, in both our lives. We wanted this for us."

Hermione ignored the twist in her chest, the sudden wrench at this words, of the  _freedom_  he'd managed to grab for himself. "You should tell Professor McGonagall, at least. Then  _she_  can break it to the Headmaster."

"Him."

"Harry..."

"It's still...weird. His devotion to my mother." He shook his head and padded down the stairs. "He did everything for her. Everything."

Hermione didn't answer. She'd not set eyes on Severus Snape since she'd apparated with him into the heart of St Mungo's, screaming for medical assistance. A smile tugged at her mouth. Well, she had stood over him, wand drawn against healers who had declared him a murderer, a villain.

She'd been a sight. The Professor a crumpled pile of black cloth and ravaged flesh on the tiled floor, barely alive. Her, fierce, hair sparking, clothes torn and splattered with his blood and the blood of the Death Eaters who'd tried to exact their own revenge...

Of course, someone had caught that wild moment in a picture. It was on the front page of the  _Prophet_  the very next morning. And the first nail in the coffin of her almost-relationship with Ron. He hadn't blown up in his usual burst of red-headed temper. No, it'd been worse. A quiet muttering, bitter and scathing about how she could be so  _fierce_  in defence of a man like Snape. That she'd run from him in his time of mourning,  _his_  time of need to fight for another man...

Ron was very good at poking at her guilt. Very,  _very_  good.

Hermione pushed that from her mind. Not that Ron could claim that Snape had shown any interest in her. In fact, she doubted the Professor wanted anything to do with her. He was a proud man and an insanely powerful wizard. To be seen at his lowest before the whole wizarding world with a  _girl_  protecting him? It was little wonder she'd heard nothing from him. Not that she needed his thanks. Her single act was a payment for the  _years_  he'd protected them. It was almost a relief that after he'd been cleared of all wrongdoing, he'd remained Headmaster. Sitting in a classroom with him would've been...uncomfortable at best.

She followed Harry into the brightness of the kitchen. Owls hooted softly from the backs of chairs, yet more perched between the pans on high racks and against the plates on the dresser. "Glaring, indeed," she murmured. "Are you all for me?"

In a wild flutter of wings and heavy gusts of air, letters and scrolls fell into her open hands. A moment later and the long kitchen was devoid of owls. She sorted through the letters and frowned. Still nothing from Kingsley. She swore under her breath. "What is he playing at?"

"Kingsley?"

"Yes." She sighed. "I can't  _do_  anything until I know what I'm fighting against."

Harry squeezed her shoulder. "I'm going to floo McGonagall now about my marriage." A brief bark of laughter burst from him and it forced Hermione to smile. "Married. Me." He wiped his mouth. "Anyway, she has to be dealing with this too-for other pupils. You're not the only muggleborn at Hogwarts."

"It's crazy. I'm sure wizards and witches are...procreating all over the place since the war ended." She caught his smirk and scowled at him. "It's a perfectly good word, Harry."

He held up his hands. "I said nothing. Though from the  _Prophet_  it seems to be favouring quality over quantity."

"I should be happy I'm a prized heffer?" She snorted. "Don't answer that." She pushed herself away from the table and yet another pile of unopened letters. "All right. Let's floo Professor McGonagall. She has to know  _something_."

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

Professor McGonagall ushered them into her office, but before the green fire of the floo died away, a flurry of letters darted through the flames. They landed in a neat stack at Hermione's feet. She fought the very real urge to kick them. Hard.

The Professor frowned. "Already?"

Hermione narrowed her gaze. "When did you find out, Professor?"

The older woman held up a long piece of parchment with a list of names. "This found me at daybreak. I'm as shocked by this as you are, Miss Granger." The Professor sank into her deeply cushioned chair and let out a long breath. "I don't know what the Wizengamot are thinking. Or if they're thinking at all."

"The latter."

McGonagall waved at two comfy chairs beside the fire. "Sit, I'll order tea, then we'll see where we are."

"I think it would be best to start with Harry." Hermione sank into the cushions and watched as a house elf bustled about with tea and a tray of delicate little cakes and sandwiches.

McGonagall pinched at the bridge of her nose. "Are you  _ever_  out of trouble, Mr Potter?"

Hermione took over pouring tea as Harry declared himself married to a girl as yet not of age. The Professor's pale blue eyes hardened and her mouth was little more than a line. Pale, wizened cheeks flushed. "What were you  _thinking_?"

"That I've married the woman I love in the way we want, three months earlier than when Mrs Weasley planned?"

The Professor closed her eyes and her pale, papery skin looked every day –and more- of her sixty odd years. She sighed and accepted the cup from Hermione. "Some days I am so very glad that Severus has ultimately to deal with pastoral issues."

Hermione sank back into the deep cushions of the chair, her fingers wrapped around the delicate, bone china cup. She frowned. "The list came to you. The Headmaster isn't here then?"

McGonagall pressed her lips into a thin line. A brief, disapproving light shone in her eyes before she drank and her features cleared. "He's due back this evening. I've not seen much of him this summer."

"Convalescing?"

Again, that hint of disapproval. "If you can call it that." Her cup clicked against the thin saucer and the subject changed. "Mr Potter, I will have to clear it with the Headmaster, but in all likelihood we will be setting up…married quarters for those caught in this new law." She winced and took another, obviously calming sip. "For the time that you're with us, you can claim a room. Once the autumn term ends, Mrs Potter will return to Gryffindor Tower."

Harry was grinning. "Mrs Potter…"

Hermione couldn't help but smile at her friend's soppy expression. "His brain is mush…he may be staying the full year."

The Professor snorted. "Yes." She placed her cup and saucer on the low table. "Now since your new wife is not here with you, I imagine that you have not yet broken news of your elopement to Molly?"

Harry scrubbed at the back of his neck. "We were waiting for the right time—"

"Now is the right time, Mr Potter. I will not have the school choking on howlers. Her knowing is a condition of your room and board."

Harry, the Boy-who-had-faced-down-Death-Twice, paled. He opened his mouth but McGonagall's gimlet gaze stopped his words, no magic required. He gave her a sharp nod. "Now," he agreed. He stood and his shoulders straightened. His thumb rubbed against the simple gold ring on his left hand, turning it over his finger. "I'll see you tomorrow, Professor. Hermione later, if I'm still in one piece."

"Good luck, Harry…" Hermione watched him declare 'The Burrow' and disappear in a burst of green flame. "You'll need it."

"So," McGonagall turned that sharp gaze onto her and Hermione's chest tightened, "you have tenders?"

"Twenty of them." She dropped the half eaten sandwich back onto a plate, her appetite deserting her. The compulsion to open the letters pricked at her again. "Kingsley is ignoring me. I don't know why. I simply want a copy of the law. I need to know how I can get out of this."

"Twenty does seem a lot." The Professor's eyes narrowed. "But then you are a very intelligent witch and a war hero with an Order of Merlin…"

"Prime breeding stock. I know." She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice. This wasn't the life she had planned. Not that she had truly thought beyond returning to Hogwarts and sitting her NEWTs. But her nebulous future had not included marriage to a stranger. "What do I do? What  _can_  I do, Professor?"

"You have a compulsion to open the tenders?"

"Yes." She caught her fingers in her hair, mention of the letters forcing their magic deeper under her skin. "They're there, brushing against my own magic. Something sweet…" She shuddered. "It's almost…seductive."

"Then open them. Know who you're facing." McGonagall sighed. She reached across and patted Hermione's knee. "I hate to say this, but the entire Wizengamot is behind this. They fear the loss of our magic after we fought so hard to destroy a wizard who would take it from so many of us. There may be no way out."

Hermione closed her eyes. She couldn't believe that. She couldn't. Drawing in a slow breath she faced her Head of House. "Have you read the wording of the law?"

"No."

"Isn't that suspicious? Why is it a secret? They want us tied and bound. And yet, there's no indication as to what we are agreeing. What rights will I have? What rights will my husband have over  _me_? Children?" Her laugh was more of a bark, short and bitter. "Am I expected to pop out a Quidditch team or two?"

She bit her lip and willed herself calm. It wasn't the Professor's fault. "And I only have thirty days to decide from them," she waved her hand at the stack of letters, "before the Ministry decides for me."

"There is a spell which can pick out the most favourable match."

"Professor…"

"Miss Granger,  _Hermione_ , you have to be prepared for all eventualities." McGonagall clasped her hands in her lap, her spine straight. "Yes, you must fight this. It is, frankly, an insanity. But, many will not fight. They want the security, the knowing that their magic is safe. Will continue to be safe. So you must choose your best match too."

She was right. Hermione knew that. But to choose from the tenders was a sign of giving in. Accepting the law. She stared at the pile of letters and their sweet magic swept over her, thick and potent. Her breath caught. What magic had the Ministry performed to decide who would be right for her? What power underpinned it?

"What is the spell?"

McGonagall smiled. "It's similar to the spellwork contained within the Mirror of Erised."

"My heart's desire," Hermione murmured. Though she had looked in that mirror and seen Ron. Was that even possible anymore? Was he one of the chosen men?

She scrubbed a hand over her tired face. This was her Plan B. If she lost her fight then at least she had some confidence that the marriage forced upon her would have a chance of success. "Please show me, Professor."

With several flicks of her wand, McGonagall cleared space within her cosy office. "Observe." She performed a complicated series of loops and flicks, watching closely as Hermione copied her. On the second try, her Head of House was nodding. "Good. You have it. Now compliment that with this:  _Ostende mihi, voluntas quidem cordis mei_."

Hermione repeated the words to more approval.

"Spread the tenders out on the carpet."

She dropped each letter, the pull of them quick against her fingers. Did any feel more sweet than the other? With her heart beating hard and her brain running too fast, she could hardly tell. "Will others choose this way too?"

"That was my plan. I wanted to give those picked some hope of happiness."

"Is it mutual, this heart's desire?"

For a moment, the Professor was silent and a stone sunk into Hermione's belly. "We're casting in unusual circumstances. It's normally a very broad ranging spell—"

"And we're limiting the scope. I'm to choose the best of a bad bunch."

McGonagall gave her a short smile and compassion shone in her pale eyes. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

She pulled in her courage. She trusted Minerva McGonagall and she  _did_  trust magic. This magic. "Thank you." She rolled her neck and flexed her shoulders. Her fingers stretched around her wand. All unnecessary, but she was about to perform the most important spell of her life. Her wand looped and flicked and she clearly repeated the words her Professor had given her.

Magic flowed from her wand tip, a golden, spidery weave of power that curled though the air to touch each letter in turn. They flipped and danced, some rising higher than others until one shot up. Hermione snatched it from the air and the magic in it almost stung her fingers. The final gleam of her spell faded and she stared at the faded brown crest. She traced the unknown seal.

This was it. If all else failed. This was the man her heart's desire had chosen. She broke the seal and the parchment opened to reveal a name.

Hermione stared. Her mouth opened. And closed. Black spots danced before her eyes and she almost staggered. No. This couldn't be right. She had to do the spell again. Had to—

McGonagall clutched her arm to steady her. "Hermione, who is it?"

"Severus Tobias Snape."

* * *

Latin Translation: Show me my heart's desire - from Google Translator :)

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

"Repeat the spell." Professor McGonagall's order was short and hard. She pulled the letter from Hermione's numb fingers and let it fall to the floor. The older woman tapped her knuckles, a spark of magic pricking Hermione's skin. "Again, girl."

Hermione shook her head, trying to find her focus. "Of course. Yes." She'd done something wrong. Missed a loop. Added one. Had she given an extra flick at the end? That had to be it. There was no way in earth or sky that Severus Snape was her heart's desire. No way.

She was half aware of the Professor giving her room as she drew in slow breaths and found her calm. The memory of McGonagall's wand movements, the repetition of her own flowed through her thoughts. She had them now. This time would be right.

The spell formed clearly and magic spun out from her wand in familiar golden wreathes. But the letters didn't dance. Instead the open tender snapped up in the air as if pulled on a string and wrapped itself around Hermione's wand.

"No, this is completely wrong," McGonagall muttered. "Impossible." Her lips pinched together before she rapped, "Again."

Hermione unravelled the parchment and dropped it. It drifted to the carpet, whispers of magic still clinging to it. Third time lucky. No, not lucky. Third time right. She lifted her wand to reach the height of the first loop and the letter shot up, spinning around the raised wand.

McGonagall swore, something harsh in Gaelic. She rubbed her fingers against her temples. "Open the others. This has to be a mistake."

Hermione uncurled the letter from her wand, fighting its reluctance, gathered the others to her with a flick and sank into a chair. How was her day spinning so wildly out of her control? Snape's tender folded itself up with quick crinkles and slipped into her cardigan pocket. She left it there where it could do no harm, and turned to the rest.

The sweet compulsion was no longer dragging at her. She paused over opening the first seal. Did the simple act of opening one drive it away? Because she hadn't made her choice. She hadn't. The  _Headmaster_  was not the man she wanted to marry.

She winced.  _Marry_. She couldn't find the soppy joy that had held Harry. Not one bit of it.

Her thumb broke the seal.  _Charlie Weasley_. She groaned. As if she could marry Ron's brother. The thought that Ron was in the pile resting on her lap tightened her stomach. Was he her choice? Could they work around the bitterness he held for her one action? Saving Professor Snape. She snorted. Hell, if Ron had come with her to this meeting he'd claim she'd been saving Snape for herself.

What did the summer say for their future? Would she have to tip-toe around him to avoid bruising his ego? Would any success she found be met with a prolonged sulk? Or was it simply the aftermath of the war? Yes, they'd fought, on and off, since they'd first met, but he was her friend. She  _did_  love him. Yet, was it enough to bind herself to him for the next one hundred and fifty years?

The length of time ran a shiver over her skin. She could hardly imagine living with  _herself_  for that long. A wry smile tugged at her mouth. Enough. She had more letters to open.

_George Weasley_. Was it little wonder that Molly had visited half a dozen owls on her? She had to know her sons had been deemed compatible and Molly would most definitely have something to say on the matter.

Four wizards followed whom she didn't know. She handed their tenders to her Head of House and the older woman murmured something about students who'd graduated ten years ahead of her.

_Percy Weasley_. Merlin's green apples they wanted her in that family! McGonagall met her gaze and she couldn't help the short laugh that escaped her as she passed over that tender. "So many Weasleys to choose from."

"Indeed."

_Cormac McLaggan_. No. She thrust the letter at her Professor.  _No_. What was magic thinking? Anthony Goldstein followed and three wizards that  _McGonagall_  seemed to know from her time as a pupil at Hogwarts. At least Professor Snape was under seventy...

She thumbed through the final seven. Ron had to be in there somewhere. Terry Boot and Michael Corner. Dean Thomas. Three more who McGonagall said were aurors…which left her with one. Taking a breath, she opened it, knowing it was Ron and that her supposed heart's desire had chosen someone else.

_Neville Longbottom_.

Hermione blinked. No Ron. She stared at the rolling script, picking out the peeks and loops of Neville's name. Magic had chosen twenty men for her…and not one of them was the one with whom  _she_  had planned to spend her life. Her hand trembled as she handed over the last tender. Had this awful law  _saved_  her from a grave mistake?

"There is a Weasley missing."

"There is," Hermione murmured. "And it's probably for the best."

McGonagall sank back into the padded softness of her wingback chair and stared at the parchments she held. "Is there anyone here you would be happy with?"

Hermione sighed. "I have no idea who ten of them are. The three Weasleys are out, naturally. The others? I grew up with them, Professor. Some are like brothers, at least one I can't stand. Two of them. Maybe? Perhaps? And even then…they grew up with  _me_ too."

Hermione didn't want to admit how hard it had been for her to make friends. Then to face the fact that she was not what most boys –men— wanted in a girl. She was not pretty and willing to smile and listen to quidditch minutiae for hours on end. She preferred books, and strangely enough  _magic_ _,_  to hoops and balls and brooms. Even Ravenclaw boys fell into the quidditch trap.

"And then there's Severus."

"Yes." Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth. "I need to know what the law says. Exactly. Damn Kingsley." That information would have to wait. She had to gather what knowledge she could now. She looked to her professor. "You…hinted at something earlier. About the Headmaster." She had to know more about Severus Snape. He was her alternative to two of Ginny Weasley's castoffs. "I know I shouldn't ask, but this has forced me."

"Severus Snape is not a good choice. Not for a young girl. He…" McGonagall shook her head. "I shouldn't judge, after all the boy suffered for decades. More than that. All of his life. It's simply difficult to equate the dour, bitter man with... It's as if I've never known him." Her pale cheeks reddened and her straight gaze dropped. "Well… He then removed himself from the castle. That was six weeks ago."

Hermione stared at the older woman. Had the professor caught the Headmaster  _with_  someone? Her stomach tightened unexpectedly and she frowned. How could magic make a tender for him if he was already  _involved_? "It's…it's serious?" Her frown deepened at the sudden tremor in her voice.

McGonagall snorted. "I think not. On the three occasions I…" She paused. "Of course, it  _could_  have been a friend wearing differing glamours."

_Three?_  Hermione's hands hurt. She stared. Her fingers had fixed into a tight, bloodless knot in her lap. She flexed them, willing away the tension and pain. It was none of her business. She had saved him. He  _deserved_  a life after everything he'd suffered for the wizarding world. The sour twist in her belly was, perhaps, disappointment that Professor Snape was just a man, after all. One with an unexpected appetite.

Her heart tightened. He'd only been out of hospital for a week and had furnished himself with three lovers.  _She_  would be the last thing he wanted. Tied to her forever, as there was no such thing as divorce. It was a forced marriage. Would they have to seek out their own arrangements? Would  _he_ _,_  simply to stay satisfied? After all, as a bushy-haired, know-it-all book worm, she had practically no experience and very little interest in sex.

Was that her heart's desire? A marriage in name only? Severus Snape would certainly give her that.

The hearth flared with a burst of green flame and Hermione half-expected to see Harry fall to the carpet, stung with half a dozen hexes. But it wasn't Harry. She stopped breathing.

"Minerva, what do you know about this," he waved a much-creased letter, "this  _ludicrous_  notice from the Ministry? Kingsley is refusing my floo and owl-"

Severus Snape froze. His dark eyes fixed on Hermione and a flare of rage burned there. " _You_."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

He didn't look like the Professor she remembered, all billowing black robes and endless buttons. A man fierce and contained. This Snape seemed younger, still fierce, but so very alive. He wore a white linen shirt, open at the neck and only half-tucked at the waist, as if he'd thrown it on in a hurry. His ink-black hair was dishevelled, making her think he'd raked it with his fingers... A stone dropped in Hermione's stomach. His or someone else's? The stone jabbed her hard as she caught the faint smear of lipstick under the sharp line of his jaw.

She ripped her gaze away, mortified to think he'd come straight from the bed of his latest lover.

" _Miss Granger_." Silken menace wrapped around her name and her heart thudded. "Would you care to enlighten me?"

She looked up and found his Ministry letter before her face. She scanned it and all blood drained from her face. Betrothed. It said they were  _betrothed_. She was on her feet, her body moving before she could think, backing away from him, from the letter that said— "I didn't choose you." Her gaze shot to McGonagall, her panic rising. The spell. Had that triggered a decision? "I didn't, did I Professor. I didn't choose anyone."

Hermione fought back the wild surge in her blood. Think. She had to think. She pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to calm her breathing, the anxious rush that made her want to run…anywhere. Simply away. Far away. "The new marriage act became law today. I…" She waved at the letters McGonagall had piled on her messy desk. "You were one of twenty."

His mouth thinned and anger will shone in the endless-black of his eyes. He moved that hard gaze onto his Deputy Head. "Minerva?"

"Don't give me that look, Severus." McGonagall's lips were pinched and a flush burned across the top of her cheeks. "This affects all seventh and some sixth year muggle-born girls. I got the list this morning. I spent hours hunting for a benign spell to give them a choice—"

"You should have contacted me—"

Her bark of laughter broke through his order. "I had no wish to  _disturb_  you. I was awaiting your return before owling them. You  _are_  the Headmaster. The final say on how to proceed with this insanity is yours."

His eyes narrowed and the lines at his mouth deepened. "Owl them. Get them here now. Rouse their Heads of House. Do  _not_  work whatever spell you found." He turned his attention to Hermione. "Miss Granger. My office." He waved a hand at the opened tenders. "Bring those."

Hermione collected her letters, clutching them to her chest in a form of armour and preceded him from McGonagall's office. She lifted her chin, her spine straightening. This was not her fault. She was as much a victim in this as he was. The familiar corridors of Hogwarts were silent and she could imagine herself alone. Almost. There was still the silent and angered man stalking behind her. "I didn't ask for this."

He didn't reply. More silence followed that she ached to fill. She fought not to look at him. "Kingsley is ignoring me too."

They stopped at the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office, Snape murmuring the password, before the stone statue swept aside to reveal the spiral of steps leading up. He waved her forward again, his face as fixed as the stone sentinel. Was the anger gone or was he masking it? The man had fooled Voldemort for nearly two decades. What chance did she have of reading him?

He opened the heavy wooden door to his office, a tilt of his head indicating that she would go first. The door shut with a dull thud and Hermione's belly turned over. She'd only been in the office a handful of times and the vaulted space brought to mind a strange mix of temple and ancient library. Dumbledore's armillaries had gone, replaced by some of the former Potion Master's more…disturbing exhibits.

Snape conjured a chair before his ornate desk. "Sit."

Hermione sank into the smooth, dark leather. She sat straight. Severus Snape would not intimidate her. "I'm as trapped by this as you are, Headmaster."

His mouth slid into a sneer. "Not quite." He took his chair and leant back into the tapestried padding. Candlelight flickered over him, limning his harsh features. He would never be handsome, but there was a power there in his lean strength, potent and almost…seductive.

Hermione blinked. What was she  _thinking_? Damn, it felt almost like the magic that had swarmed over her tenders. And she still held them. She thrust them onto the table, snatching her fingers away. Could they still be working against her?

Snape's dark eyes narrowed on her and on them. "What spell did Minerva show you?"

She closed her eyes, the embarrassment cutting through her. He would shred her when she named it. Pulling in her courage she met his impassive gaze. "A variation of the spell within the Mirror of Erised."

"My Heart's Desire."

His smooth, rich voice curled around the words and Hermione fought a shiver. It had a magic all of its own. She couldn't deny it. "Yes, sir."

"And you chose me."

"The  _spell_  chose you."

There was the sneer again. "You wound me, madam. Am I not every young girl's dream?" He flicked a hand at the crumpled tenders. "Make another choice. A witch can break a betrothal." He lifted an eyebrow. "The youngest Weasley boy should be eager for you."

Hermione wet her lips. "Ron." She swallowed as her voice broke. "Ron isn't there."

Snape frowned and rifled through the papers. "An odd assortment. Men who schooled with Minerva? Would you prefer someone considerably  _older,_ Miss Granger?"

Hermione bristled. "You find this amusing, Headmaster?"

"No." He bit out the word. "But I am now containing my…displeasure for your benefit. Would you prefer I savage you?" He threw the tenders onto his desk. "I suggest you pick between the Ravenclaws."

She jerked a nod. It was a sensible suggestion and she would need to speak with both boys –men- before she could decide. Did they have other tenders? Did Snape? "How do we break this?"

"A wizarding practice of which you are ignorant. That I lived to see the day."

Snape pushed himself out of his chair and she scowled at him. How was he charming witches into his bed with such a personality? He moved with a slow grace that was strangely fascinating and she drew in a long breath, her mind swirling with these odd thoughts. Severus Snape was  _not_  attractive. He wasn't. He was over-thin, harsh featured, sour and often cruel. He had made her time at Hogwarts with him awful at best and brought her to bitter tears on more than one occasion. The list of his defects didn't seem to help as obsidian eyes fixed on her. Had his eyelashes always been so long?

"Give me your wand hand, palm up." Snape stretched out his right hand, his palm down. "You will declare your intent to break this initial bond and magic will be satisfied."

"Do you have other witches waiting on you, Headmaster?"

He lifted an eyebrow, his mouth tilting to a smirk and heat flooded her face. She hadn't meant the women he'd seen over the summer. Not that she should know anything about it. She was certain it was something he would want kept secret. Though if that were the case, he'd have to still Professor McGonagall's clacking tongue.

"As far as I am aware you are the only witch with me as a…suitor."

"So after this, you'll be free again?"

"It would appear that way."

A riot of emotions whirled within her. He would escape the new law. She envied him, the way she had envied Harry. His life would be his own. A smile tugged at her mouth. The inchoate thoughts that had sent her into the Shrieking Shack after Voldemort's death, sharpened. She'd wanted to see him buried with honour, but had found him alive and then fought with every breath to keep him that way when renegade Death Eaters discovered them. He'd never shown her any favour…but he had kept them all alive year after year. Him being free of any master made her world  _right_  in a way she couldn't truly explain away.

"I'm glad," she said and offered him her hand.

He clasped it, a warm, calloused palm and long fingers swamping her little hand. She opened her mouth to declare her intent, but magic was already writhing around their hands and snaking along their forearms. She tried to yank herself free, but the grip of Snape and magic was fierce.

Her heart pounded, sweat beading her forehead to trickle down her temple. Fire seemed to lick through her veins, chasing…something. "What is this?"

But Snape was snarling, his eyes once again black with burning rage. "A binding."

And as quickly as it had fired over them, the magic was gone. Hermione staggered back and fell into the leather chair. "What…?"

Snape swore under his breath, his fingers caught in his hair, fisting a clump. "We're bound."

"We're…"

A letter swept down the staircase and flipped open with a loud crackle.  _"Congratulations!"_  It declared in a voice Hermione recognised from earlier that morning. Margerat Greenbowl.  _"Thank you for supporting our world at this critical time. Congratulations again, Professor and Mrs Snape."_

The letter burst into flame at the end of Snape's wand.

* * *

 


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

_Married_. Taking his wand hand had invoked their  _marriage_. Hermione lurched forward, forcing her head low as black spots danced across her eyes. At some point today she really was going to pass out.

_"_ _Hermione, Severus."_ The gleaming silver form of a lynx patronus leapt into the office and Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice burst from it.  _"Come to my office."_

The mist-like magic dispersed and Snape swore. " _Now_  he's available."

"How…how has this happened?" Hermione willed herself to lift her head, pushing back loose tangles. Her skin was clammy and nausea roiled her stomach. Why was this happening to her? To them? She held the dark fury of his gaze. "It feels like a trap."

"Doesn't it?" Snape's voice was almost a growl. "And you played your part."

"Me?" It came out as a squeak. "I wanted this as little as you did—"

"Except –if you are to be believed— I am your heart's desire."

Her face flushed, anger and embarrassment churning through her mind. She willed her breaths even. "Magic has failed, spectacularly, twice today. Or it did exactly what it was meant to. Someone wants us married. With or without our consent."

"Such suspicion is positively Slytherin, Miss Granger." He was again in control and Hermione was grateful. Snape's fury was terrifying. He waved his wand down his torso and the familiar frock coat with its plethora of buttons, the perfectly tied cravat and the edge of white cuffs replaced his loosened clothing. Another flick tidied his hair. The smear of lipstick was gone. "Transfigure yourself something fitting for the wife of the Headmaster of Hogwarts."

Hermione blinked. "Is that necessary?"

"It's a farce. But I refuse to be ridiculed."

Was that a part of it? Even though others were caught in the law,  _his_  new tenure as Headmaster would be overshadowed by his taking a returning pupil for a wife. Nausea rolled through her again. School started in the morning. She would begin it not as herself, but as  _Mrs Severus Snape_.

She stood on wobbly legs and worked a spell over her comfortable muggle jeans, t-shirt and cardigan. Blue, fitted robes fell to her knee in a swirl of light fabric, something she'd seen Ginny despair over as being 'matronly' in an old copy of  _Witch Weekly_. A scooped neck and long sleeves hid Dolohov's and Bellatrix Lestrange's marks on her flesh. A spell whispered across her feet, transforming black pumps to matching blue, low-heeled shoes, complete with cushioning and steadying charms. Another spell caught her hair into a sensible chignon.

Snape's eyes were on her, but she found no approval in their darkness. "It will do. You still look ridiculously young." He took a pinch of floo powder from a pot on the mantle above the high fireplace and tossed it into the hearth. "The office of the Minster of Magic." Green fire flared and Snape nodded to her. "After you, Miss Granger."

Hermione stepped into the cool flames, a moment's disorientation followed before she stepped out into the marbled reception of Kingsley's overly ornate office. The huge portraits of past ministers moved between their ornate, gilded frames, crowding to peer at her. All except Scrimgeour and Fudge, who remained in their portraits either side of the great doors to the office proper. Fudge's imperious scowl irritated her. What did he find offensive?

She pushed that question down and ignored all of them, tottering forward, no amount of charms giving her anything approaching grace in unfamiliar shoes. A heartbeat later, Snape strode out from the vast fireplace.

"Madam."

He offered her his arm and she slipped cool fingers over the thick material of his sleeve. Her heart thudded. His muscles were iron, tense, practically thrumming with anger and magic. She wondered how strong Kingsley's shields were, as they were sure to be tested.

Percy Weasley scrambled out from behind his officiously neat desk. He tugged at his robes, a line of fierce red cutting across his cheeks. He swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Professor Snape. Madam…Snape." He couldn't look at the Headmaster and his gaze darted away from her, fixing somewhere on her left shoulder. "I'm honoured. Let me be the first-"

"The Minister. Now."

Percy blanched under the menace in Snape's voice, turned and half ran to the great oak doors. "Minister, Professor and Madam—"

A flick from Snape's wand propelled Percy back into the reception and the door slammed into place. Kingsley rose from behind his desk, and ran a hand down his chest to smooth the creasing in his robes. His face was calm, but his wand hand was ready. A sensible precaution.

Snape eased her fingers from her arm in a surprisingly gentle way, but anger flared after and he strode towards the minister. "What is this about?"

"Sit." Kingsley swept a hand over the chairs and a round table set in the corner of the room. Tall bookcases lined the walls beside it. "I can explain—"

" _Explain?_ "

The word ripped from Snape in low snarl and Hermione shivered. What would her life be like now? They were bound. He was her  _husband_. A bitter, furious man who'd had his freedom ripped from him. Again.

"I want this  _annulled_."

"Severus, please sit." Kingsley's smooth, deep voice was almost a balm and she fought to find the ease that was obviously eluding Snape.

Hermione risked a hand to Snape's arm, a gentle stroke over his sleeve. Her heart was in her throat, anxious that he would turn his fury on her. "Please, Headmaster." Her mouth twitched. "We can listen. There's plenty of time to hex him after."

Snape drew in a heavy breath and released it. His gaze met hers and she had to remind herself of all of his defects. List them over and over. Because the heat, the power in that single look dried her mouth. "An excellent plan, Miss Granger."

Hermione gratefully took a seat, absently arranging her skirt over her knees. She had to gather her wits. Why was she reacting to him in such a way? Yes, she respected the man, even when he was being a complete bastard. And yes, his voice was mesmerising…but she had never, ever, had  _those_  kind of thoughts for the Potions Master. Until now.

She glanced to the great arch of the window dominating the room that looked out onto the Houses of Parliament and Big Ben. It had only been a week since she'd been here. A day that had a bitter and sour end, as Ron railed against her higher honour. Not that any of that mattered anymore. She was married now. She simply dreaded explaining her lack of choice to Ron…

She held down a sigh and returned her attention to Kingsley, who sat opposite. Snape was a fiercely contained storm beside her. Hermione resisted the strange urge to place her hand over his. To offer calm support. He didn't want or need her.

"What do you know of Dionysus?"

Hermione blinked and sat back in her chair. She frowned. "What does a Greek god have to do with this marriage law?"

"Nothing, directly." Kingsley rubbed his hands together, his gaze flicking over the silent wizard beside her. Was he glad to have her to focus on rather than a man who could explode at any moment? "Magic is a…gift. But it has a price. In every generation, a wizard becomes the incarnation of Dionysus—"

Snape barked a laugh. "That's a myth. A line to talk gullible witches into bed."

Kingsley fixed his dark gaze on Snape. "How many have you talked into your bed this summer, Severus?"

Snape straightened. "I will not speak of that in front of my wife."

Hermione stared at him. Snape obviously had a set of rules that pertained to marriage – ones he would not break. "Minister…"

"Kingsley."

She nodded. "We are both more than anxious." She gave a half-smile to Snape who simply remained stony faced and bristling. Anxious didn't touch the wizard's anger. "Could you please simply tell us why you thought it necessary to force us into this union?"

Kingsley pressed his lips together and focused on Snape. "Certain families are watched. The Prince line is one of them. The incarnation of Dionysus has appeared in your blood before, Severus." The Minister lifted his chin, his gaze firm. "You died. Hermione saved you. You are twice-born. The perfect vessel."

"I'm an incarnation of Dionysus. A _sex god_?" Another bitter laugh escaped Snape and he shook his head. " _Me?_ "

"You." Kingsley sighed and his broad shoulders dropped. "Which brings us to the marriage law and your particular binding. The Wizengamot was already considering this law. The report in the  _Daily Prophet_  is true. Pureblood…interbreeding is becoming dangerous. Hence the drafting in of muggle-borns."

Hermione forgot about Snape's sudden declaration and glared at Kingsley. "We are not  _cattle_."

"No. No, you're not." Kingsley scrubbed at his face. "I couldn't fight them on it. Malfoy is waiting in the wings to grab my chair. I disagree and I'm out, and any chance of an even half sensible government is gone."

He clasped his hands together. "So, we offered as much choice as we could to the women affected."

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "We?"

"Your involvement is slightly different, Hermione." Kingsley had ignored Snape's curt question. "Yes, you would've been drafted under this law, but when you were considered, your…credentials offered up another path. And it was decided that your binding would be caught within the new law."

Hermione frowned. "Hiding it. Why?"

"The reality of Dionysus is known only to a few. As Severus said, it's considered a myth, something to laugh over. It has to stay a secret. For it to leak to muggle hearing..." He shook his head. "It would reveal a major weakness in our world. If they interfered, magic would be lost to us forever. Dionysus is our god of magic, but to use his power, for us to access it, we pay the price and he must be…contained. Bound. And only to the purest of witches."

Hermoine's cheeks flushed and she pressed her hand to her mouth. Hysterical laughter almost bubbled through her. And the insane thought raced that if she'd given into Ron's constant badgering for sex she wouldn't be sitting there, facing an impossible future with the bitter wizard sitting next to her.

She put her head in hands. Severus Snape was a sex god. And she was his virgin sacrifice.

 

* * *

 


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

"You said 'we'?" Snape glared at Kingsley. "Who else should I be hexing?"

Hermione fought to pay attention. This was important, but all that ran around her mind was Snape and sex. Was she supposed to deny him? Or –and her heart pounded-  _satisfy_  him? Any thought of breaking their binding had left her head. All magic was tied into their union. To annul their marriage wiped away everything.

"Why didn't you just ask us?" The question came out quiet, almost broken. She looked up, strength finding her spine. "It's not as if we haven't fought for our world." Her gaze moved to Snape. "Sacrificed almost everything."

"It was felt—"

"You didn't trust me." Snape sat back in his chair and a sneer fixed on his face. "You didn't believe that I would agree to  _her_."

Kingsley looked down to the surface of the table. "Your preferences were known to us."

" _Minerva_." Snape's voice cut around the woman's name, sharp and angry. "She reported to you in my first week out of hospital. And she was desperate to save her little cub."

Kingsley rubbed a hand across his jaw. "We wanted to offer Hermione a choice. When she unexpectedly chose you she fixed the binding. With your touch, it was complete."

"You offer her a choice. But not me."

The fury emanating from Snape was almost palpable. And she completely understood why. They'd fixed him in another impossible situation with no regard for his feelings, or making it his own decision.

Hermione took a steadying breath. "You said we were caught under the law. What does that mean? Why can't I see the exact wording?"

"Some of the clauses will not apply. We felt that it would cause undue distress." Snape snorted at that. Kingsley's calm delivery continued. Hermione was happily hating him. "Your union will not be monitored as the official ones are—"

"Monitored?" The word leapt from her. The ultimate aim was to produce babies… Hermione swore under her breath. She couldn't fight for these women, as it would expose her own marriage. She had to pretend to fall in line. "The ministry will know when and where and how often?" Her face was hot but she ignored it. "That's a disgrace!"

Another part clanked into place and her stomach turned over. "Are we –am  _I_ \- expected to have a child?"

Snape stiffened beside her and she couldn't look at him. A binding and sex were one thing, but a child trapped with them? Caught in a marriage without love, without any sort of affection or understanding between its parents? It was wrong. Completely wrong. A disaster.

Hermione couldn't fight the sudden ache in her chest as Kingsley refused to hold her gaze. "I assume there's some sort of schedule?"

"There is a exemption clause concerning education."

"I want a copy of the law, in full, Kingsley." Hermione bit out the request. "I'm sure I'll cope with it now." Her hair felt light and the quick scent of metal filled the air. She was sparking. Her hands tightened into bloodless fists against her thighs. "I'm sure I'll not be too distressed now."

"What else are we supposed to know? What does…being what I am, do to my magical core?" Snape straightened in his chair. He wanted to leave. Escape. It was there in the tightness of his jaw, the vein ticking at his temple. He wanted to run…and destroy something. Hell, she was right behind him there.

"The basics." Kingsley was clipped now. He wanted to get away too. Preferably without being Snape's target. "You must appear to comply with all the marriage law edicts. Which includes fidelity."

Snape growled at him, whether at the limitation or the suggestion that he would betray his binding, Hermione didn't know. And couldn't clarify.

"You are to reveal your status to no one. To avoid conception clauses, I suggest finding apprenticeships, Hermione." He ran a slow hand over his scalp. "As to your magic, Severus, it's now tied to the seasons."

Snape swore. "Winter makes me a bloody squib? And a  _Scottish_  winter? I'll never see magic again."

"No." Kingsley shook his head. "No. Each incarnation is different. They've reported various drops and increases in their magical ability." He pushed out his chair and stood. Hermione wondered could he apparate in his own office. Snape would no doubt test his speed. "Your magic is bound to the other, Hermione's tempering yours."

"My gaoler," Snape murmured and Hermione closed her eyes.

Kingsley conjured two copies of the marriage law scroll, bound with red ribbon and stamped with the thick Ministry seal. "I'm sorry this fell the way it did. For both of you." And with a crack he was gone.

"Did you get him?"

Snape lifted his eyebrow. "Are you suggesting that I non-verbally and wandlessly hexed the Minister for Magic, Miss Granger?"

"Did you?"

He smiled, something wry and wicked and Hermione's mouth dried again. Was this his influence on her now? An ache low in her belly that he would no doubt satisfy…except she wasn't the type of woman he preferred. It shouldn't bother her. But still, it did.

She looked to the table and snatched up the scroll. "What happens now?"

"We begin the charade." He rose from the table, all lithe elegance. "Return to Grimmauld Place. Come to Hogwarts as you normally would. I will…make arrangements…for your new accommodations."

A stone dropped into her belly. "I'm to live with you?" She pressed the heel of her hands into her eyes, the pressure breaking the panic. "Professor McGonagall tried. She did. She believed that spell would work."

"You can't escape your fate." His mouth thinned. "Mine is always to be bound to something or someone."

"I'm sorry. I wanted you to be free."

"I have found that I very rarely ever get what I want." He ran this fingers through his hair. For a long moment, he closed his eyes before his dark gaze found her again. Something had changed within him and Hermione's heart twisted. The shine she had witnessed in McGonagall's office was gone. He was once again…contained. "We are not suited, but I promise I will be faithful to you. Always. And I will support you and honour you."

A tear leaked from her eye, chasing down her cheek, and her throat was tight. She sniffed and swallowed and no doubt looked young and gauche. "I make the same promises. And may the bonds that hold you be as thin as cobwebs." She forced a smile. "Not acromantula webs, obviously…"

His lips twitched. "Come, I'm needed at Hogwarts. You can return to Grimmauld Place."

She followed him to the great doors and he pulled them open, allowing her to precede him. Percy had vanished from his desk and even the ministers were missing from their frames. Word travelled quickly.

Hermione dug into the pot of floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace. Declaring 'Grimmauld Place' she cast a quick smile at an impassive Snape and stepped into the flames.

She spun through the network until she stumbled out into the familiar library. Waving her hand over herself, she removed soot and returned her clothes to their original shapes. With a sigh, she cast a tempus charm…and groaned. It wasn't even noon. How had she crammed so much into so little time?

She trudged down to the kitchen. Kreacher scuttled up to her. His gleaming eyes narrowed and he briefly bowed his head, before twisting his fingers together and asking what mistress would like for lunch. He'd seen it. Whatever it was that had changed with her binding to Snape.

"Surprise me, please. Though I would like something chocolate for pudding."

Kreacher bobbed his head and scuttled off. Hermione slouched, her forehead touching the smooth wood of the table. She resisted the very real need to bang it repeatedly.

"Hermione?"

She groaned. Though at least it wasn't Ron. She still had that fun time to come. "Hello, Harry. Still in one piece?" She rolled her head and focused on him. "Still have all your bits?"

He snorted and flopped down beside her. He poked the pile of letters left on the table from the owl inundation. "You haven't opened your post."

"Anything obviously red?"

"What have you done now?"

Hermione didn't answer and forced herself to sit up. "Is Molly okay? It doesn't look like there's a mark on you. That, or you have fast reflexes."

Harry smiled. "I am  _very_  fast." He sighed. "There was screaming. Things exploded in my general direction. And now my mother-in-law is in bed with something suspiciously herbal to calm her." He shrugged. "We still leave for Hogwarts in the morning. So," he narrowed his eyes, "what about your news?"

Hermione thanked Kreacher as he slipped a pile of her favourite roast chicken sandwiches before her. A thick and shiny slice of chocolate tort with raspberries and cream joined it. "My news," she murmured.

Harry snaffled one of her sandwiches and took a deep bite. If he touched her chocolate, he'd lose a hand. "You're back and your letters aren't. Professor McGonagall solved it?"

Her smile was bitter. Yes, McGonagall had solved it. Hermione wanted to blame her Head of House, but in truth, the older woman had tried. She thought the Heart's Desire spell could pull her away from Snape. And instead it threw her at him. With force.

"There was no solving it. Like you, I'm now married."

Harry choked. She slapped him on the back and Kreacher offered a glass of water. " _Married?_  Who to? I thought that you'd have time to think. To plan." He stared at her hand. "You're not wearing a ring."

Rings. Yes, they would probably need those to maintain the pretence. Pretence. As if they weren't completely and utterly married. "It was very quick. I don't think the Wizengamot is much on ostentation."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "They're not. With the robes, and the gold chains, and the whole mysterious vibe thing?" He sipped his water. "Where's Ron? I thought you'd at least be sitting with your husband, or have you already had a fight?"

She drew in a breath. Time to break his world. "It isn't Ron."

"Not…?" Harry stared at her. Then he gaped. "Not," his voice dropped to a whisper, "Ron?"

"It's complicated, Harry, but in reality I only had one choice." She closed her eyes. "I married Professor Snape."

"You  _what_?"

Ron's screech burst over her and she groaned. Fuck. Seriously.  _Fuck_. "Ron…"

Harry simply stared at her. "Snape?"

"That's why you wanted nothing to do with me. You were already screwing him. Did you wait for him to come out of his coma? Or did you sit on his dick right then?"

Spittle burst from his lips and his face was beetroot. Hermione dug her fingers into her loose hair and let his horrid words roll over her. It was ironic. Severus Snape had every right to scream and shout at her…and yet he'd hardly raised his voice. And in Kingsley's office, his softly said words had broken her heart.

"You don't want a man. You want to fuck a corpse."

"Ron!" Harry slammed his hand down on the table.

Ron swore under his breath and angered tremors ran through his hands. "Nothing to say?"

She straightened and pushed her tangled hair back. Her chin lifted. Damn him. "You are being petty and cruel. I had no choice. None. This whole summer you have griped or sulked, or stamped your feet like a child. I am sorry for your loss. I am. I miss Fred. And it's so much more worse for you. I understand that. But I am not here to take the brunt of your pain."

He opened his mouth and she flung a  _silencio_  at him. It was her turn to share.

"I found my parents in the days after the Battle. Restored their memories. And they disowned me. Did you support me? No. You whinged at me because I'd missed your Chudley Cannons try out.

"And when have I been out  _fucking corpses_ , exactly, Ronald? I've been in this house, trying to be here for you and to pull myself together to begin the rest of my life. Thinking –insanely- that you would be a part of it. Now you're not. And frankly, I find myself relieved."

She flicked her wand at him and cancelled the spell keeping him silent.

"Are you done?" His words were raw and low.

"Yes."

"Then never speak to me again." He turned and left the kitchen.

Hermione winced. "That went well."

 

* * *

 


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

Hermione stood on Platform 9¾s cradling Crookshanks. For the first time, she wasn't burdened with trunks and bags and other school paraphernalia. She was allowed magic, and so everything had been shrunk and stowed away in her ever useful little beaded bag.

She was thankful. She'd found little sleep, unease about her time at Hogwarts eating into her thoughts. She would live with the Headmaster. The idea was scandalous and mortifying. She also had little doubt that Ron would make it ten times worse.

She'd left Grimmauld Place first thing that morning and stopped off at Diagon Alley. She had a gift to collect. The mention of rings had pushed at her, and needing to get out of the house and far,  _far_  away from a certain Ronald Bilius Weasley, the previous afternoon she'd apparated to the cluster of shops in search of a jeweller.

The award from her Order of Merlin had come in handy to quicken their work. Now she had a ring tucked away in her bag. She doubted Snape would wear it, but it was a symbol of the promise she'd made in Kingsley's office. And that was all that mattered to her.

"Hermione!"

The shout brought her out of her thoughts and she looked up to see Neville and Luna. She willed a smile onto her mouth, fighting her tiredness. People pushed around her, the steam from the Express wreathing and obscuring as her friends neared.

"You look tired, Hermione." Luna tickled Crookshanks behind his ear and the half-kneazle's machine gun purr vibrated against Hermione's arm. Her friend tilted her head, her pale eyes focused. "The new law. Neville said…"

Hermione gave her a quick smile. "Can we board? I'd rather not talk here."

Neville frowned, searching the crowded platform, his height advantage giving him a good view. "Ron and Harry?"

"Not here yet."

Neville pulled open a door and they piled into an empty compartment. Hermione placed her cat on the padded seat and he curled happily, wrapping his bottle-brush tail under his chin. She cast a  _muffiliato_  and let out a long sigh. "Neville, I'm sorry, I had no idea that anything would happen yesterday. You got a Ministry letter?"

"I got two." His smile was wry and Hermione was still surprised by the changes in her friend. Impossibly tall and suddenly so confident in himself it was startling. But then he  _was_  the Snake Slayer. "Something about you being compatible with me for marriage." An endearing flush touched his cheeks. "I admit, I panicked." He glanced at Luna and it was obvious that they were so much more then friends now. Hermione was almost envious of the sure connection they shared. "I don't think of you…" He let out a long, slow breath. "Anyway, a few hours later, I got a condolences letter and that you were 'off the market'."

Hermione winced. "They used that phrase?"

"'Fraid so."

"You came to an agreement with someone then?" Luna scratched behind Crookshanks ears and he again showed his appreciation. The Ravenclaw girl looked to Hermione's left hand. "Or not?"

Ron would cause trouble. She could practically taste it. She needed friends who wouldn't erupt at her news. Well, perhaps Neville would. He and Snape had never seen eye to eye. And they had also suffered the previous year under Snape as Headmaster. She wanted to convince Luna and Neville to counteract the no doubt vile rumours Ron would spread. If he didn't, that was fine. But Ron didn't take being slighted well. He never had.

"I was given twenty tenders from a plethora of wizards, some of them, I'd never heard of, never mind met." She forced herself to smile. "Professor McGonagall helped me to choose. She has a spell that she plans to help —or has already helped— the girls caught in this law. We find out who we would have the best chance with from our pick of wizards."

Neville narrowed his eyes. "What are you not telling us?"

Was she that obvious? The secret they had to hide under the marriage law would be out in hours.

"It's about Ron, isn't it?"

Ah, he suspected her groom. That was fine, in a way. She looked out of the thin windows to the crush of people still on the platform. She  _had_  seen herself with Ron. Once. Though the summer had faded her fantasies. His words in the kitchen still hurt. "Yes. And he's not reacted well to  _any_  of this."

Luna closed her hand over hers as Neville stared at her. "You mean, it's  _not Ron?_  What is the Ministry  _thinking_? You have to appeal. You two are meant to be together-"

"Neville…" Luna's soft voice broke into his increasing rant. "Hermione has more to say."

"Ron and I were already impossible, before the tenders." She squeezed Luna's hand in a tacit thank you. "So…the Professor's spell. We performed it three times. To make absolutely certain." She almost snorted. That was one way of putting it.

"Who is it, Hermione? Is it Malfoy?"

She shook her head and drew in a breath. She went in for the kill. "I'm Mrs Severus Snape."

Neville flinched and his face was ashen. "You've married… You're  _already_  married?"

"As I said, he is my best chance."

" _Snape?_ "

"Professor Snape," Luna said before Hermione could correct him. Luna gave her a dreamy smile. "You…fit. It's right."

Neville's was spluttering. "Right? He's… He's…"

Hermione was well aware of all the faults tearing through Neville's mind. He was a Death Eater. A hated teacher. The Headmaster who  _appeared_  to make their lives hell. And that was were Neville was falling down. Snape had worked for  _them_ , tirelessly and with no thought of reward. Her gut twisted. Yet, here he was, trapped again. "He's a war hero, second only to Harry himself," she said quietly.

Neville deflated and sank back in his seat. "And Ron is not taking this well?"

"Some things were said yesterday. We're not friends anymore. Perhaps never again. Ron…"

"Will say other things in anger. And to as many people as possible," Luna finished. "And you want us to support you."

Very little got past Luna. She was in Ravenclaw for a reason. "Neither the Headmaster nor myself asked for any of this. It's already hideously embarrassing for me, and for him. More so for him." She sighed. "I promised to support and honour him. And I'm going to try my very best to do just that."

She ended the  _muffiliato_  with a flick of her wand. "Of course, I also have gossip." She grinned, putting all thoughts of her marriage to the back of her mind. "Concerning Harry and Ginny…"

Luna laughed. "They're married!"

"Harry Potter is  _married_?" Neville stared at her and then Luna. Hermione doubted he could take any more shocks that day.

* * *

The clamour of the Great Hall burst around her and Hermione willed herself to believe that everyone  _wasn't_  staring. Mutterings about the marriage law flowed over the crowded tables and others were very aware that she was a muggle-born. Did they know who she'd married?

She sat between a Fourth Year girl and Neville. Seamus and Dean sat opposite. She'd twitched a smile at Dean and he'd given her a half worried look, his body tense. She had the feeling he'd run as soon as the Welcome Feast finished.

Harry and Ginny sat further down the table, heads together and smiling in a soppy fashion. They would no doubt be the only happy newlyweds at Hogwarts. She winced as her gaze caught on Ron, who sat three people along from them. His body was hunched and tight and he ignored the third year who was excitedly trying to talk to him.

Hermione stared into her cup, hating the sour rush in her belly. He would get over the slight. He would. She had to believe that. And really they only had to share the school until Christmas. Then she would start one of her  _many_  apprenticeships and he would most likely go off to work with his brother George.

A sooty owl swooped low and dropped a tightly rolled scroll beside her plate. She pocketed it, smiling briefly at Dean's narrowed gaze. "Ever popular," she murmured.

"Who else is married?" The obviously tactless Fourth Year asked. "I mean you must be married, or at the very least betrothed, right Hermione? I heard they were all here yesterday —with so much screaming and wailing the Headmaster threatened them with expulsion. And they have their own House now. Or quarters. Anyway, they're off somewhere near Hufflepuff. Is that where you are?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but was met with Neville's, "Here're the First Years."

The doors slammed open and Hagrid led the way, seemingly tiny eleven year olds in his wake. Eyes wide as saucers, they stared up at the enchanted ceiling, innocent and excited. Hermione's heart clenched. And they could be. Nothing overshadowed their future. She spied a girl with wild blond hair and something about her awe pricked at Hermione. A muggle-born. Maybe  _her_  future wasn't as…open.

She sighed and glanced up at the Head Table. Snape sat straight and impassive, the gleam of candlelight edging his features. For a moment, their eyes met and Hermione's stomach swooped. A blush burned and he lifted an imperious eyebrow that did absolutely nothing to control her hammering pulse. He looked younger, healthier. She swallowed. He looked  _attractive_. Was that a boon from the fact that he was the incarnation of a god?

Even in a world filled with magic and the seriously strange, that fact still stunned her. A wry smile tugged at her mouth and it broke the sudden and disturbing want holding her. Was that another effect, this need? She was married to a  _god,_ after all.

"He looks…well. Really well." The Fourth Year was off again and Hermione resisted the urge to hex her mouth shut. "Last year," she shuddered and Hermione found some sympathy. They had suffered under Snape as he did everything he could to protect them. "Last year, he looked awful."

"It was a trying time for everyone," Hermione murmured.

But the Fourth Year had turned to the girl beside her and hurried whispers broke out. More than once they looked to the Headmaster. And Hermione was back to wanting to hex her.

The First Years lined up down the central aisle and the sorting began. Amid the cheers, names and Houses called out, Hermione risked a glance at the note the owl had delivered. As she thought from the scrawled name, it was from Snape. A request, and the password, to meet him in his office after the Feast.

She tucked the letter away again and threw a smile at a frowning Neville. "Stuff, she said.

All too soon the Sorting was over and the Headmaster stood. Silence fell over the hall. He moved with his usual grace to the lectern. The great, golden owl spread its wings as he rested his hands on the lectern's surface.

He was silent, a dark, forbidding man, heavy with power. It fairly pulsed from him. Had it always been there? Was it something he brought to being Headmaster? Or was it a part of his new role? Too many questions rolled around Hermione's head. Even with the upcoming meeting, she doubted any would be answered soon.

"A new year." He paused and Hermione twitched, denying the little frisson his rich, smooth voice sent over her skin. "A new start."

His gaze moved across the tables. "We have a chance now to begin again, to move forward. None of us live under shadow. We can be who we were meant to be, regardless of skill or House."

He paused again, but this was different, felt different. Magic, his magic reached out, to something or someone. Not her. Her head jerked to the left, just in time to see Ron stiffen and his mouth clamp together. Had he been about to lash out at Snape? Hermione pressed her fingers to her lips. Didn't Ron have  _any_  control?

"Remember that in your time here." Snape glanced behind him. "We have three new professors joining us this year. Professor Alec Shaw," a rail-thin man with brown hair and a ruddy complexion, stood and nodded, "Potions. Professor Gwendolyn Price, Defence against the Dark Arts and Head of Slytherin." A tall, cool woman, pale and blonde stood and there were murmurs from the sparse Slytherin ranks. "And finally, Professor Peter Merrel, Muggle Studies." A tall, athletic man, all blonde hair and teeth stood and gave a dazzling smile. The Fourth Year beside her growled. Hermione stopped herself from rolling her eyes.

Snape stood back from the lectern. "Enjoy the Feast."

The tables suddenly groaned with food and Hermione found herself hungry. She risked a glance at Ron. He eating with his usual gusto, but he was silent, focusing solely on the mountain of food on his plate. Had the Headmaster stuck him to the bench and completely removed his ability to speak?

As she scraped the last of her sticky toffee pudding from her bowl, the bench she sat on bowed, as others began to leave the Hall. She looked to the Head Table. Snape was still there. Minerva sat beside him as his Deputy Head, the older witch looking strained and pale. His face was without emotion and Hermione released a tight breath. Had he worked through Minerva's meddling? At least there was simply silence and not our right hostility.

"So," Ginny plopped herself down on the bench beside Hermione, "you appear to be a positive influence."

Hermione frowned. "What?"

"Snape."

She cast yet another  _muffiliato_  and hated that her life still needed the secrecy spell. "Ginny…"

"He looks good. More than good. I mean…" Her smile was wicked. "Have you tasted the merchandise yet?"

Hermione's mouth fell open. "Do you remember who you're talking about? And what would your  _husband_  say?"

Ginny snorted. "He'd be very happy to share…"

"Ginny!"

The woman laughed, her eyes dancing. "Gods, Hermione you're so easy to wind up." She tugged at her arm and pulled Hermione to her feet. "Come and see our new rooms."

"Maybe later."

Ginny's eyes were on the Headmaster who was rising from his chair. "Ahh, now I see." She gave a mock groan when Hermione slapped her arm. "I meant what I said. He's changed for the better. The new Head of Slytherin certainly seems to think so. Watch your man, Hermione."

Gwendolyn Price had a long-fingered hand on Snape's arm and whatever she said caused the flicker of a smile to touch his mouth. Was she his preference? Tall, mature —she looked roughly the same age as Snape- his social and intellectual equal. Maybe not intellectual… After all, the numerous witches he'd bedded over the summer couldn't  _all_  be his equal.

Hermione pushed that thought down. That was his past. His brief and bright moment of freedom. She wouldn't deny him that. And she trusted him, trusted his word. He would be faithful to her. But his  _looking_  was unexpectedly hard.

She turned on her heel and headed out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Hermione knocked on the Headmaster's door and it opened on whining hinges. Snape was at his desk, and he rose, dark and sure. Hermione's heart pounded. The door closed behind her and all air left her lungs. She twitched a smile and fought the need to twine her fingers into a tight, nervous knot. The man was hardly going to make her scrub cauldrons.

"Headmaster."

"In private, or in the company of Professors, you may use my given name. In front of students, it's Sir, or Headmaster. I will offer you the same courtesy by calling you Madam Snape. Is this agreeable?"

So it was straight to business. Should she have expected anything else? "Yes…Severus." She almost choked on his name and her cheeks flamed.

Something shifted in his gaze and it wasn't good, but he said nothing. He was holding himself back. Honouring his promise. "My –our- chambers are beyond those stairs." He frowned. "The house elves reported that you brought no luggage. They deposited only a large, ginger cat."

She smiled. "Crookshanks." She lifted her little bag. "All my personal items are in here. Ease, and well habit."

He gave a short nod and the tension and the awkwardness increased. "Follow me." He led the way up the curve of the stairs to an ornately carved door. It opened onto a lush, circular sitting room, the rounded walls crammed with books. A huge fireplace lit the room with golden warmth and deep chairs sat before it. "Our sitting room." He pointed to doors breaking up the bookshelves. "My study and bed chamber." He opened a narrow door onto a smaller sitting room. "This is your suite."

It mirrored his room, though the shelves were empty of books. Three doors broke the walls. "Your bedroom, a study and this door." He rapped his knuckles against the thick, dark wood and it gave a hollow ring. "Turns you out onto the new married quarters."

"I won't have to access your office."

"Precisely." He bid her back through to his sitting room. "Only you can cross this threshold."

It was admirable of him that he didn't point out he'd barred her friends from his own rooms. She dropped down onto one of the chairs before the fire, sitting on the edge of the cushion, too tense to relax. She'd read the Marriage Law edicts. Kingsley had said they were not to be monitored, but what did Snape –Severus- consider his duties to her? And hers to him.

He relaxed back into the other chair, mellow, something almost decadent. Firelight touched him, giving shine to his hair and a gleam of gold to his dark eyes. Lean and long-limbed, in that moment, he appeared…beautiful.

Hermione stared down at her hands. "Duties." She bit out the word. "I read that awful law. What would you want us to be seen to be doing to maintain the pretence?"

"You must be accepting, Hermione."

Her head snapped up at the use of her name. She blinked.

"Others must spearhead the campaign to end it. Not you. We can't draw attention to ourselves. This," he waved a hand between them, "can never be dissolved. It would appear odd if you fought to repeal the law, yet didn't take advantage and end our union."

She wanted to joke and say that by the time it was repealed she could claim she loved him. But he wouldn't take kindly to that, she was sure. "I'm certain to be asked."

"Offer limited help. You have your NEWTS and then an apprenticeship to command your time."

"Apprenticeship?" She perked up. Had he already sort one out for her?

"You have a choice between Arithmancy, Charms and Transfiguration. All three Professors have agreed to tutor you."

Hermione grinned. "Not so much choice, as one after the other."

He nodded and a brief smile lifted his lips. "As you wish." He steepled his fingers against his lips. "Other duties. As Headmaster, I have to attend a variety of  _functions_." The derision he poured on the word said exactly what he thought of them. "You will accompany me."

"I've never really…"

"Minerva has offered to tutor you in wizarding etiquette. Try not to hex her. It will be difficult."

Hermione pressed her lips together to deny her smile. "Have you and she…?" She wasn't sure it was her place to ask. Her…relationship with Snape was still tenuous.  _Severus_. She had to make the effort to think of him that way.

"I have not yet expressed my full displeasure." Another of those short smiles found his mouth. "Yesterday, I had more urgent concerns. In the meantime, her  _unease_  is most satisfying."

Severus Snape had a sense of humour. Dark, wicked, but definitely there. It still surprised her. "Anything else?"

He sighed and sat forward. Something moved in his gaze that had her heart pounding again. "I have had time to think. I am…changed and that change is like a living thing in me. Fierce. Bright." He glanced at his hands before looking up, his gaze almost…hungry. "Neither one of us asked for this. But here we are, for possibly the next hundred years or more and we are sworn only to each other…"

_Sex_. He didn't want her, but she was his only option. He made her blood thrum, she couldn't deny it. He was  _her_  only choice too. And he was the incarnation of sex, literally. Her first time would've been a fumbling mess. Her first time with  _him_  promised so much more.

She jerked a nod, her gaze flicking to his, embarrassed and strangely eager, but the heated hunger was gone from him.

A stone sat in her belly and she closed her eyes. Damn, she would not cry because  _Severus_   _Snape_  didn't want her. Was only using her as she would use him. She drew in a breath. One final thing and she could escape to her room. "I have something." She dipped into her bag and pulled out a small box. "I made a promise to you yesterday and I would like you to have this."

His fingertips brushed hers as he took the box, murmuring a thank you. Heat skittered through her flesh and she fought it. He'd flicked open the box, but no emotion appeared on his face. "The jeweller is one quarter goblin. You can see his skill. It's platinum and he promised me almost indestructible." She bit back on more rambling words. "Of course, you don't have to wear it, I wanted you to have a symbol of my promise." She winced. So much for not rambling.

He snapped the box shut and stood. He drew something out of the blackness of his robes. "A symbol." He held a ring and fire gleamed over white gold inscribed with a strange pattern. "Give me your hand, Hermione."

His voice was liquid and poured over her, dark and velvet smooth. She drew herself to her feet as if she were on strings and offered him her left hand. The ring was strangely soft, almost downy. She looked at it and the tracing of feathers settled over the bright metal as the ring sized to her finger.

"The swan. The Greek symbol of fidelity. I thought it appropriate."

Her heart squeezed so hard it was a real, physical pain. "It's beautiful."

He handed her box back to her and she blinked. "I will wear your ring, Hermione."

She swallowed, her hands shaking as she pulled out the gossamer-thin ring from its box. It was almost as light as air, the metal wrought into the finest of cobwebs. She slipped it onto his long ring finger and the fit was perfect. It was almost invisible, until he tilted his hand and the precious metal flashed in the firelight.

"Hermione."

She looked up and he pressed his left hand to her jaw and cheek. His thumb drew a line under her lip. She closed her eyes and his warmth heated her skin. Something so simple shouldn't be so…delicious.

"How many have touched you?"

She sighed and the heat in her face was more to do with embarrassment. She stared at his chin, unable to hold his gaze. He didn't want a novice. He didn't want  _her_. "I was picked for a reason, Severus. Two kisses."

His lips quirked upwards. "Now it will be three."

Hermione gasped and caught the brief shine of his endless eyes, before his mouth covered hers.

 

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

Severus tasted of chocolate and a hint of wine, his lips sure, his tongue teasing against hers. She shouldn't be kissing him. That thought turned over in her head, caught and twisted. Kissing was affection, but they would never have that. Yet, she couldn't deny something so…sensual.

His heat, the tormenting scent of him, strangely herbal mixed with sandalwood, and the silken brush of his hair against her cheek had her pulse in a riot.

A large hand spanned her waist and slipped beneath the band of her skirt to caress her lower back, easing her closer to the lean strength of his body. She went willingly, deepening their kiss. She groaned as she pressed against him, the box slipping from her fingers, forgotten. She clutched his robes and pulled herself up, desperate for more of him.

"What do you need, little girl?"

His breath burned over her moist lips. Molten words that fired desire low in her flesh. Her chest hurt as she found she couldn't breathe. She held his dark gaze. "You." It was almost strangled. "You, Severus."

He growled and she met his mouth, the kiss fierce, carnal. He'd have her there. Take her virginity on the floor before the fire and she didn't care. She wanted him over her,  _in_  her. Skin and hands and mouths—

" _Severus?_ "

Hermione broke free of him buried her scalded face against his chest. Someone had seen them. And were scandalised by that tone of voice. She shrivelled at the thought. Yes, they were married, but still, he was the Headmaster and she a returning student. And if they'd arrived later, it could have been so much worse.

His fingers curled in her loosened hair and he held her close. "Gwendolyn." Severus voice was calm but cold. "You should wait to be invited into my private rooms."

"I brought the treatise I mentioned." Her voice was uncertain, but still Hermione couldn't look up. "Severus, is she…?"

There was something in the Head of Slytherin's voice. Something like…distaste. It put iron in Hermione's spine and she drew herself back from the protective shield of Severus' body. She fixed a smile on her face and found the tall professor frowning at her. Gwendolyn's gaze moved rapidly over her mussed uniform and Hermione lifted her chin, unrepentant. She'd brave anyone's displeasure before she gave up kissing her husband.

"Good evening, Professor." She nodded and her smile was sweetly sharp. "I'm Hermione Snape, the Headmaster's wife."

Gwendolyn blinked. Twice. "Wife?" She looked from Hermione to Severus. " _Wife?_ " She frowned again. "The Marriage Law. It caught  _you_ , Severus?"

"As you see." His hand brushed Hermione's shoulder and the simple gesture of support warmed through her.

"But she's a  _student_."

"Madam Snape is returning on an accelerated course to sit her NEWTS. At the start of the spring term, she will in fact be an apprentice."

"She's hardly anything like-"

"Gwendolyn." The sliver of ice cutting through her name sent a shiver through Hermione's blood. The Professor paled. "My marriage is not open to further debate or comment. Am I understood?"

The Head of Slytherin jerked a nod and her face settled into a more thoughtful mask. What had Gwendolyn read in his words that she couldn't see? Bloody Slytherins.

"Hermione." His voice turned her name to dark velvet. "I will collect you at eight-thirty. I wish to formally present you to the staff."

He took her hand, squeezing her fingers and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his obsidian gaze fixed on her. Hermione stopped breathing at the brief flicker of hunger heating his eyes. She was completely out of her depth with this man. Which wasn't her. She was quick, sharp. She pulled her brain out of its hormonal soup and gave him a secretive smile. "I'll be waiting, Severus."

His mouth ticked upwards and she resisted the urge to grin. He was a Slytherin, he liked word play. Though Gwendolyn Price seemed to have abandoned all of her Slytherin principles. Perhaps it was shock.

Hermione disappeared into her sitting room and closed the door behind her. She fell back against it and pressed her hand to her mouth to deny the bark of laughter that ached to escape. She'd kissed the  _Headmaster_. Kissed him and had every plan to do that –and more- the first chance he gave her.

She frowned into the empty room. What had brought Gwendolyn to his rooms in the first place? A book was a flimsy excuse. Her stomach tightened as her mind galloped down unwanted paths. Had Severus been aware of her intentions? Had kissing  _her_  put paid to having to deal with unwanted interest?

Hermione pushed herself away from the door. Kissing her  _also_  helped with the overly keen Professor. Why have something only work one way for you? Anything less wouldn't be Slytherin. He had wanted to kiss her. She had to believe that.

She cast a tempus charm. It was just after seven. She would visit Harry and Ginny – _she_  would be sure to knock and wait- for some Weasley gossip.

Crookshanks blinked at her from the centre of her wide, four-poster bed, his tail flicking. "Made yourself at home?" He closed his eyes again. "It would appear so."

In the light of the candles, the round room was warmed with taupes and golds. A leaded glass window looked out into the night, the spatter of rain the only sound in the dim quiet and she lit the fire to take away the autumn chill. Hermione found her trunk, spelling it back to its original size and tugged out muggle jeans and a thick sweater.

She stared at her collection of clothes. A bookworm's wardrobe, hard-wearing, plain and comfortable. She could transfigure something similar to the dress she'd created to meet the minister for the staff that night. Yet, she needed a set of clothes for Severus' despised functions. Professor McGonagall would no doubt advise her…but she'd run every item via Ginny.

Dressed, she headed for the door that would put her out into the married quarters. She stepped out into a long, darkened corridor, lit by torches. The door slid back into place and she found it guarded by a painting of an elderly knight, his face lined and browned by the sun, his beard grizzled.

"Madam Snape." His smooth voice belied his roughened face.

"Good evening…?"

"Sir Bedovan the Just."

Hermione smiled. "A pleasure." She stared at the long row of paintings lining the corridor. "Do you know which is the Potters' room?"

"Opposite, the silver dragon, though he spends most of his time trying to eat the cattle in the painting off to the left."

"Thank you."

The dragon eyed her, smoke curling from its sharp nostrils and without any further action, the portrait swung back. Hermione knocked on the plain wood door and waited. Harry and Ginny had obviously made the dragon aware of her.

Harry opened the door and gave her a belated smile. "Hermione! Ginny said you would be," he looked away from her and red burned his face, "be busy."

She laughed. "Not quite yet."

Harry bustled her into a small, cosy room. Ginny was curled on a deep couch set before the fireplace. "I thought you'd be busy."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "So Harry said."

She plopped down onto the thick cushions and explained to Ginny her need for more cultured clothes. Ginny grinned at her, the gleam in her eye something fearful and earning a groan from Harry. Murmuring that he'd lost his wife for the night, he sank into one of the other chairs with a book on Quidditch. And Hermione got a condensed lecture on wizarding fashions –complete with pictures from Witch Weekly- for the next hour.

She was happy to escape. Though Ginny wrung the promise from her that when she went shopping,  _she_  had to do with her. Hermione closed the door to her sitting room with a sigh of relief. She had half an hour to get ready, but at least her haranguing from Ginny meant she had more ways to transfigure her wardrobe.

Hermione stared into the long mirror, tilting her head. Her hair had been managed from its usual birds nest to something –well- tied back. A touch of mascara and lip gloss lifted her face. The clothes faired better. Deep blue and velvet, a fitted bodice with long sleeves and enough front to cover her scar, its skirt swung heavy just above her knees.

"Hermione…?" Severus knocked on her bedroom door, and without thought she invited him in. "You're ready-"

Before she could answer, even before she could begin to feel embarrassed about having in her bedroom, the fire flared and a letter shot from the chimney.

_"_ _Hermione Granger I am disgusted with you! How could you lead my Ron on in this fashion? And with—"_

The Howler erupted into a shower of torn paper, and Severus flicked it back into the fireplace. The pieces quickly blackened and burned to ash.

Molly Weasley. Of course. Had she waited until they were in a bedroom together before the Howler found them? She gritted her teeth. The woman was a bloody harpy.

"Hermione." Severus smooth voice broke into her thoughts and she jerked her gaze to him. He murmured a spell and skin she didn't know was wet with tears, dried. "The post has been filtered to avoid this. Mrs Weasley obviously set this up deliberately. All correspondence from her will now be banned."

"Thank you." She ignored the pain in her chest. "I should've expected something. She's always preferred to believe that I'm close to a harlot. Yet she was fine to believe I was Ron's whore."

"Nothing could be further from the truth." His thumb brushed her cheek and she leant into his touch, the heat and promise of it. His hand dropped and he took a step back. "We are expected."

Had he forgotten who she was for a moment? The warmth of his palm still tingled against her skin and she held back a sigh. "Professor Price has gone on ahead?"

"Eventually." There was an undercurrent of anger in his voice.

"She seems a bit keen. Why did you hire her, Severus?" She stopped in the doorway between their sitting rooms and blood rushed to her face. Severus had  _hired her_. During the summer, when he'd bedded almost anything with a pulse. He and Professor Price had… She closed her eyes, fighting to push down the sourness in her gut. She trusted him to remain faithful. Severus Snape –if he was anything- was a man of his word and loyal to a fault. But this…

"I employed wand oaths."

Hermione stared at his impassive face, trying to wrap her skittering thoughts around his words.

"I value my position here. I wasn't looking for scandal, so I had the agreement of a wand oath so that a witch could not talk about our…assignation with anyone."

She let out a slow sigh. Price couldn't corner her and go into detail about how she had…how she had  _fucked_  her husband. "Thank you." She gave him a short smile. "That was my fear."

"And you don't worry about me straying?"

"Of course not." She touched his cheek as he'd stroked hers. "You promised." Something moved through his gaze that looked like bewilderment, before his eyes were again emotionless and black. "I'm not being naïve, you know. You gave me your word. And if anyone's word is gold, Severus, it's yours."

"You're growing used to my name, Madam."

She smirked as she followed him to the door. "I hope I am."

He slid her a look that caught her breath and set her on fire before he opened the door to his office and ushered her out. Her thoughts whirled as she trotted down the steps. The summer witches might not be able to share his time with them, but she was certain they would push sly digs in other ways. The uncomfortable thought hit her that she'd have to ask him at every function who he'd slept with so that she could be on her guard.

She had to prepare. It was what she did. What she had always done. It was how she was alive after almost eight years of constant threat. Perhaps he could make a list. She winced. No. That was...distasteful. A little knot of fear and unease tightened in her gut. She was nothing like Professor Price. Had that what the woman had been going to say.  _She's hardly anything like...me_. And all of his need would be focused on  _her_  now, all of it. She was a novice. Could she truly satisfy him?

She had to know more. Research. Not sex...but more about what he was, what he would  _need_  from her. "What do you know of the incarnation? How do I work with your magic?"

"So many questions," he murmured, escorting her out and down the stone steps to the corridor. "I am the Prince heir and, as such, have access to all of the family archives."

Good. It was a start. "Your ancestor." She let herself relax a little.

"Indeed." He offered her his arm and she slipped her fingers against his warm sleeve. She resisted the urge to press herself against him. Elegance, not teenage infatuation was needed. Well, as elegant as a bushy-haired bookworm on transfigured shoes could be.

They met no one in the dim corridors and staircases that led down to the ground floor. It was the first night back. A time to mix with friends and share summer stories. Though no doubt this summer's memories would be darker.

"Are you ready?"

Severus had stopped beside the two gargoyles who guarded the staffroom. They were thankfully silent. Though they were eyeing her strangely. Hermione lifted her chin. "Yes, but I'd recommend casting a strong shielding charm."

Severus snorted. "Oh, I'm sure."

The doors groaned open and Hermione's insides turned over. She'd known some of the teachers in the room for over seven years. They'd watched her grow up. As had her husband. That knowledge brought a blush to her cheeks as she entered the candlelit room. Professors lounged around on deeply cushioned chairs, more than one had a thick goblet or a crystal-cut glass filled with the amber and smoke of firewhiskey.

"Severus."

Professor McGonagall stood, her gaze moving to Hermione before she fixed on the Headmaster again. Her wand arm twitched and her features were pinched with the unease he'd mentioned.

Hermione's own feelings were confused. The Deputy Head had known about the Wizengamot's decision. That she was to be Severus' wife. She hadn't shared that knowledge, instead working to pick any wizard over him. She didn't know whether to be grateful or angry. But it wasn't the time. Severus had straightened beside her.

"If I could have a moment." Severus' smooth voice cut through the murmuring. "I wish to introduce you to my wife."

Professor Sprout dropped her glass, shattering it against the stone floor. Hagrid was on his feet, his mouth gaping. She caught other exclamations of shock as well as Professor Price's cool, hard stare. The one that surprised her was the new Muggle Studies teacher. He grinned, something quite salacious, and lifted his glass. Hermione frowned. Was that a wink?

But all thought of him vanished as they became caught in the sudden tight surge of anger.

"Is this going as well as you expected?" Hermione murmured as Pomona Sprout started to screech about impropriety and was held back by Professors Vector and Shaw.

Severus smirked at her, his eyes gleaming. The bastard was enjoying it. "More that I could ever have dreamed."

 

* * *

 


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Hermione followed him into their sitting room. "Did you know they'd react like that?"

Severus sank into one of his heavy armchairs before the fire and loosened the tight knot of his cravat. The clock on the mantle chimed softly. Was it really only nine-thirty?

"Not in such an extreme way, no." He gave a loose shrug. "But it was better there than in front of the students. Tomorrow will be difficult enough –for you especially." He stared into the fire, golden light limning the harsh lines of this face. "The staff will have reined in their disgust."

"Severus…"

She stood before him. Her hand uncurled from a nervous fist and she stroked a slow line along the sharp plane of his jaw. His head lifted and black, guarded eyes held hers. "I don't care," she murmured.

He pulled in a heavy breath, but didn't draw back from her touch. "You should." His mouth ticked up into a bitter smile. "And whilst this evening and seeing some of my esteemed colleagues completely lose their marbles has been  _fun_  – it taints you. Your future."

She teased a line under the curve of his bottom lip and his mouth parted. "This is all strange and new." She smiled at him, something bright and open. "Did I mention strange? But given the choice again, I would still be here standing in front of you." She wrapped her courage around her, too aware that the heat in her face had nothing to do with the roaring fire. "In  _desperate_  need of kissing."

Severus lifted one of those imperious eyebrows and her stomach flip-flopped. " _Desperate?_ "

His voice curled around the question and she nodded, her mouth too dry to speak. She wet her lips and his gaze arrowed there. "And you should know, I am tenacious in the pursuit of what I want."

His grin was wicked…before it faded. "Hermione, you don't have to do this. I know I said I needed-"

Her eyes narrowed. "And what about  _my_  need?" She took a step closer, standing between his knees. His scent surrounded her, sandalwood and herbs and something else more nebulous that she couldn't quite name. "I haven't done this before. To be honest, I was never really interested." She flushed, but frowned as Severus' guarded eyes gave a betraying flicker of guilt. "No. Victor,  _Ron_ ," she spat out his name, "didn't make me feel anything.  _You_  lift an eyebrow and I want to climb you like a tree."

He gave her a wry smile and his laughter was soft. "Gryffindor honesty." He stroked her hip, his gaze following the curve he traced to the length of her thigh. He winced. "Two bloody kisses before me," he muttered under his breath. His eyes found hers again. "You are new to this. I am not. I wasn't before I became whatever in Merlin's name I am now. Therefore, I will set the pace."

"So what do I get tonight?"

He glared at her, but there was no anger in his eyes. "Ungrateful chit." His large hands covered her hips and eased her back. He stood, towering over her, his face caught in the blaze of the fire. Gods, he was mesmerising.

"Tonight." He leaned in and his mouth brushed her ear. She shivered, a flicker of hot want dancing through her veins. "I will give you…pleasure."

He was going to kill her. He was. And she'd die happy by his voice alone. "Yes, please."

" _Such_  a good girl."

Her knees almost gave out. "How good at this are you?" It was meant to be rhetorical and not spoken aloud, but his soft huff of laughter caught her breath.

"I am patient. Observant." His velvet smooth voice poured over her in a heated whisper and she clutched at his robes, almost squeaking when his hands stroked firmly over her backside. "My hands are…meticulous. And I cultivated this voice. How good do you think I was  _before_?"

Hermione wanted his mouth on her, simply to stop the torment of that voice. His delicious scent surrounded her. His heat. Her mind was spinning. She was drunk on him. " _Do_  something."

"I would like to do a number of things to you, Hermione. None of which you are ready for." In a sudden move, he lifted her and she yelped her surprise. He grinned at her. "Wrap you legs around my waist."

She looped her arms around his shoulders and did as he asked, all the while too aware of his hands on her backside. Her dress had rucked, exposing her thighs and her belly tightened as he drew a hot palm down her stocking.

"Silk," he murmured, his dark gaze fixed on her. "Interesting choice."

"Ginny." She attempted a smile, but her nerves, her fast beating heart and the increasing ache between her legs made words difficult to form. "She thought…" His thumb traced the crease of her thigh and words became overrated.

She groaned as his mouth found the underside of her jaw, licking, kissing, a slow,  _slow_  torture. She tightened her thighs, pushing herself against him, desperate for relief from the unfamiliar ache. " _Please_ , Severus."

"Since there is a ginger feline in your room, will my bed suffice?"

Only he could word an offer like that and make it…delicious. "Yes." Her lips touched his and a sigh escaped as he opened his mouth to her. He teased her with light touches, the nip of his teeth, tantalising her. She wanted, needed more. She clung to him and deliberately deepened the kiss.  _This_  was pleasure. She gave a moue of disappoint as he drew back.

"There are  _other_  pleasures to show you."

She drew a path over his lip, liking that her kisses had plumped it. "I enjoy kissing you."

He smirked at her. "So you demonstrated." With ease he carried her to his bedroom. "You are…exceeding expectations."

Hermione stared at him in a sudden, irrational panic. "You're going to mark me!"

He brushed her face. "No. Believe me." He eased his fingers into her hair, drawing her to him and a soft, sweet kiss. "Simply a poor joke."

The door opened and by the light of the fire, he made his way across the room. It was a rounded tower room similar to hers, but all that she cared about was the looming presence of the vast, four-poster bed.

Severus eased her down onto the high mattress. A spell chased down the length of his frock coat and the buttons came apart. He shrugged out of his coat and dropped it across a nearby chair. His cravat joined it.

Hermione fought to keep her breathing even. He was dressed as he was the first time she saw him yesterday and in the light and shadows from the flickering flames he was impossibly beautiful. Was this all to do with him being the incarnation of a god? She'd never had anything like a crush on him before, had she?

Of course, he  _had_  caused her obsession with Lockheart to fall apart as Severus flattened him with one simple  _expelliarmus_. Though she hadn't noticed his grace and power… And naturally, she was grateful that he'd protected her – _them_ \- from a transforming Professor Lupin. The scent of dusty parchment and grass from that horrible night sometimes still caught her—

"Where have you gone, Hermione?"

His soft voice broke into her thoughts and she smiled up at him. She wanted him. It was perfectly all right to do so. The open neck of his shirt tightened her belly. In her excitement, she'd forgotten about her scars. She looked to the floor and tried to ignore the panic in her chest. He'd made her forget. Completely.

"Hermione?" He bent down and lifted her chin, making their eyes level. "What is it? We can stop…"

She wanted to hug him, hard. She had never thought he could be so caring… Pressing her lips together, she shook her head. "You made me forget." Her words were met with a frown. "Forget my scars."

The tightness in his shoulders eased away. He stood. "Show them to me."

With her eyes closed, she willed herself strong and pushed the velvet dress from her skin. The fabric pooled to the floor. She gasped at the gentle stroke of a finger against her breastbone, tracing the puckered line of Dolohov's scar. Feather-light, Severus followed the ruined flesh to just above her navel.

"A mark of your survival. The man who made it is dead."

Hermione stared at him, finding no pity in his eyes. She held up her arm and Severus jaw tightened. His palm covered the word 'Mudblood' raked into her skin.

His chest lifted. "Molly Weasley did one thing right in her life."

"It's why…" Heat flushed her cheeks and she gave him a half smile. She'd always feared what Ron would say about her spell-marked flesh.

"Teenage boys are notoriously stupid." He raised an eyebrow and that single gesture reminded her why she was standing in her knickers and bra in his bedroom. And what he had promised. "Should we continue?"

"Yes, please."

"Always so polite. On the bed, Madam Snape." His smile was positively wicked.

She grinned and scooted back onto the high mattress. Waiting. Eager. He followed her, still dressed in his loose shirt and trousers, though his feet were bare. A moment later, he vanished her bra. She squeaked, her hands covering her breasts.

Severus loomed over her, his breath brushing the back of her hand. "Such sweet little nipples. Don't you want me to taste them?"

Her heart thudding, she slid her fingers back. This was what she wanted. Him, with his mouth on her flesh. His eyes held her for a long moment, dark and endless, with the flickers of hunger that made her want to throw herself at him.

He licked her peaked nipple and Hermione gasped. Her hands fisted the heavy cover and her spine almost arched. She thought he murmured "so responsive" before his hot mouth took her breast. Hermione shook, the riot in her blood, her flesh almost beyond endurance-

His mouth broke away and she let out a discontented moan. He smirked at her. "Over the coming nights I plan to map you. Find every point of ecstasy on your skin. Is this agreeable?"

She sucked in a breath, almost breaking under that promise alone. She twisted under him, aching for skin, but finding cloth. "I want to touch you."

"This is about you…"

"It would be my pleasure to touch you."

His forehead pressed to her stomach and he pulled in heavy breaths. "I would take you, girl." His voice was just above a growl, wild, ungoverned. "Break you so easily."

She arched under him, wanting just that. "Severus…"

He ignored her, his rigid body seemingly under control as he licked his way down the length of her scar. It's sensitivity surprised her and she writhed against his sure tongue. And still he went lower.

He vanished her knickers, his breath hot against her sex. Hermione closed her eyes, so near to exploding that the sight of his dark head between her legs would be enough to send her falling. The silk of his hair brushed her thighs, his long fingers gripping them and easing her legs apart.

Hermione cried out as he kissed her, sensation sudden and wild. And then there was more, and  _this_  kissing became her absolutely most favourite thing.  _Ever_. His tongue, his lips, the delicious nip of his teeth, building the tension, binding her with it. He sucked her clit and fire rocketed through her veins. She thought she screamed as white hot joy burst over her, her body shaking, her mind simply lost to pleasure.

"That's my good girl."

Severus was holding her, his shirt gone, his warm flesh pressed against her damp skin as tremors still convulsed her. She clung to him, licking his collarbone, dropping open-mouthed kisses. Everything about him and her life was absolutely  _fine_  in that golden moment. "Outstanding," she murmured. "Utterly outstanding."

His soft laughter followed her down into sleep.

 

* * *

 


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Hermione woke to a mouth on her breast. For a moment, she lost herself to the sensation of a tongue curling around her nipple, to the gentle teasing of sharp teeth. She squirmed and her fingers slipped through silk-soft hair. She blinked and focused.  _Severus_. And his very talented mouth.

He smirked up at her, his dark eyes shining. "You fell asleep on me last night, Madam Snape."

Sunlight glinted through the leaded glass to spill across the floor of his bedroom, throwing the unfamiliar room into relief. Morning. It was morning already. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to get up." With a final sweet little kiss, he rolled away from her and she flopped back into the warmth of his bed. It smelt of him and of her and she drew the scent deep into her lungs, the little frissons from his touch still at play in her flesh. She'd been hoping for more of the same. Or something else equally pleasurable.

He grinned at her. "Didn't you enjoy your wake up call?"

Hermione pushed her hair from her eyes and growled at him. "Are you always this  _perky_?"

He lifted an eyebrow and his gaze slid over her, taking in her exposed breasts and the sheet lying loose around her hips. "I have a beautiful, naked witch in my bed. She'll be in my bed again tonight. And the next. I think I have every right to be  _perky_."

Hermione pulled the sheet up, covering herself and he glared, before he sat up. Morning light gleamed against the alabaster skin of his back and she sucked in a quick breath. His scars. So many, interlacing, ancient and others pink and new. A tentative hand reached out to him and he stiffened under her light touch. Her fingers curled away. "I'm sorry."

"You see, I could never judge you for yours." A smile twitched at his mouth, his face in shadow. Had he forgotten too, just for a moment?

She would do for him what he had done for her. She wanted him to forget again, never to have to worry about his how he looked to her. "When you let me, I will trace and kiss and lick every single one."

He closed his eyes, his face tight and she was sorry for spoiling his mood. She doubted there had been many such happy mornings. "Severus…?"

She gasped as he pulled her into his arms, her legs tangled in the crumpled sheets, and she was forced to straddle him. He buried his face in the wildness of her hair. She didn't know what to do as he clung to her. So she rubbed her hands over his back, her fingers skimming his numerous scars and let him recover.

With a sigh, he pressed a kiss to her bared shoulder. "You are too good."

"No, I simply crave your body."

He laughed against her skin. "In time."

She pulled back, searching his face. "And you're all right with that? Not," she waved her hand and her cheeks burned, "you know, going further."

He smirked at her, his mood lightening again. "Would I like to fuck you? Gods yes. Will I? No. I'm not a boy, unable to control myself."

"No, you're the incarnation of a sex god."

A flush banded his cheeks, and she had the privilege to witness Severus Snape embarrassed. "I am still  _me_. And you deserve my patience."

She grinned at him and pecked a kiss. "You're so sweet."

"Madam, I am not  _sweet_."

"I beg to differ." She kissed him again. "I need to get ready."

Hermione untangled herself and tottered to her feet. She pressed a hand to his jaw. Smiling at him, her throat tightened. He deserved so much. And yes, her overwhelming need for fairness had kicked in. Severus was not a house elf, but she would do everything in her power to improve his quality of life. And she'd start with letting him know how much she appreciated him.

"Our marriage took away your freedom just when you found it for the first time. You  _could_  have been an unholy terror…but you have been unfailingly kind and honourable." She smirked at him. "You're also unbelievably good at this sex business."

He laughed, his face coming alive and the urge to kiss him and tumble back into bed stirred through her. Everything about him was so unexpected. Was this the man he  _should_  have been before two lunatics sank their claws into him?

"Away with you, witch." He swatted her backside and she yelped. "When you're ready, meet me in the sitting room. I have your timetable."

Hermione grabbed her clothes –found her wand— and darted away, naked, from his room, across the sitting room and into her own suite. She was soon in the shower, trying not to dwell on Severus and the ease with which he'd brought her to a blazing orgasm…

Cursing her wayward thoughts, she shampooed her tangled hair, the pain of unknotting it distracting her. Yes, she  _would_  discover her sex drive just as every minute had to be devoted to passing her NEWTs.

Her hair dried with a spell and fought into a manageable state –that is tied back at the neck— Hermione dug out her school clothes. Dressed, she cast a tempus charm. It was just before eight. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. A glance through her beaded bag proved she was packed for every subject and she looked over herself in her long mirror. Her nose wrinkled. She was back to being a school girl.

_"_ _You look very studious, dear."_

Hermione held down a groan. The last thing she needed was a magic mirror with its often unwanted opinions. "Thank you." Severus had said she was polite. It was the muggle-born in her. She couldn't ignore people, things, strange pseudo-sentient magic...

The mirror tutted at her.  _"Though you're married. And at school, too_ _._ _Never have I-"_

"I'm 19." Hermione gritted her teeth. It was going, she was getting rid of it. She hardly needed the judgement of an inanimate object, when she'd have the derision of the wholeschool.

She turned away, ignoring the comment about the shocking shortness of her skirt –it was the same as it had always been, a perfectly acceptable knee-length— and left her rooms.

Severus stood before his fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the low flames. The rising ire at the mirror was forgotten. She devoured his slim silhouette, tall and lean and dressed impeccably, he was aesthetically beautiful.  _My husband_. And the thought gave a little swoop to her belly.

He glanced up as she crossed into his sitting room. His eyes narrowed and that guarded look was back. He didn't like her uniform either. "Today will be…trying. No doubt the  _Prophet_  has a list of those recently married. We will be front page."

Hermione winced. "Very likely." She straightened. "I'd prefer to sit with my friends, until my NEWTs are done. I think my sitting with you at the High Table would expose us more." She smirked at him. "Of course, once I'm an apprentice, I'll quite happily sit with you and fondle you under the table."

Severus snorted. "I would not be adverse to being fondled."

Hermione burst out laughing. She was truly growing to like this Severus. "And also you have no worries. I won't make these suggestions in public, or attempt to be improper with your person through the day."

"I am grateful." Severus handed across her timetable and she frowned at it. He shooed her towards her rooms. "I'll see you tonight. We have things to discuss. There's a Ministry  _event_  soon."

She rose on her tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Will you dance with me?"

"I do not dance."

She smirked at him. "You didn't  _use_  to dance."

"Go to your breakfast, insufferable witch." But there was a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. Hermione thought, for her first morning after –of sorts— it was rather a good one.

She plopped down onto a bench between Harry and Neville and began to fill her plate. She was famished. She risked a glance up to the High Table in time to see Severus slip quietly into the Headmaster's chair. He was met with silence by the other Professors and her heart turned over for him. She supposed she should be grateful they weren't trying to hex him.

"What have you got first thing, Hermione?" Neville asked, bringing her attention back to him.

She gave him a vague smile before her brain fired. "Potions. Then Defence. After lunch, Arithmancy. Ending with Muggle Studies. All doubles."

He winced in sympathy. "Is there a NEWT you're not taking?"

She stuck her tongue out at him, still buoyant. "Divination, if you must know." She waggled her fingers. "I have very little connection to my  _Inner Eye_."

"What has you in such a good mood?" Ginny leaned around Harry. Her eyebrow lifted and she was smirking.

"I slept well."

"Of course you did…"

" _Ginny._ " She looked around the table, the sudden realisation hitting her that those opposite were avoiding her gaze. She held down the need to curse. She had the culprit. Ron. With his lies. In the Gryffindor Tower.

Owls swooped in with the post, letters, scrolls and care packages raining down. Her  _Daily Prophet_  landed in the toast. She risked another glance up at Severus, before she unrolled the paper. He was rescuing his own copy from a selection of jams. She scanned the front page and groaned. She tried to cling to her good mood, but it vanished as the headline sank in.

_Death Eater Headmaster and his School Girl Bride._

Mutterings grew from the other tables now, the Ravenclaws glaring, as more news passed to them from the Gryffindor table. Ron again. With his lies about how long her supposed relationship with Severus had been going on. No doubt, her OWL results were down to extra curricular favours now.

"It says you're 16." Harry snorted. "Everything is just lies." He threw the paper back onto the table.

"Muggle age of consent," Hermione muttered, her thumb tracing over the delicate pattern on her wedding ring. "A reminder of my blood status. Whilst still making Severus out to be a monster in the wizarding world."

Harry's hand covered hers, stopping her nervous gesture and gave her fingers a squeeze. "Remember, five Death Eaters. To a standstill. All I'm saying."

She twitched him a smile. He hadn't said anything about using the Headmaster's given name and she was relieved. She couldn't have borne his poking fun in that minute. "Let's get to Potions."

Hermione stood, and Harry, Neville and Ginny rose too. She caught Luna's bright smile as she moved around the tables to join them. Her guard. Her heart squeezed at their support.

Ron was laughing loudly, caught in an admiring ring of witches. His cold, blue eyes fixed on her and he seemed to forget his plan never to speak to her again. "Enjoying your time scraping the grease off?"

She smirked at him. "Look at my husband." Her voice was low and sure and Ron's face paled, his gaze suddenly uncertain. More than one witch was staring at Severus now, and the Headmaster was aware of it. He looked up, fierce, forbidding and utterly beautiful. Hermione's mouth twitched as a Fifth Year gasped. She'd seen it too. The change in him. The witches looked to her now and rather than disgust, something like envy moved across their faces. Her smile was quite satisfied. "And he's  _mine_."

Ron blinked, looking around at the suddenly silent girls surrounding him. " _What?_ "

* * *

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

Potions was…odd.

The new professor was quietly competent – but then Hermione doubted Severus would employ someone who couldn't teach a subject he himself had taught for almost two decades.

Professor Shaw was also nervous, his pale eyes darting to her as he moved around the classroom. Did he expect her to report back? To be honest, if Severus asked her, she would. She winced as she dropped chopped scarab beetle legs into her cauldron and silently counted the fifteen seconds before she began her stirs. A few months. Sixteen weeks and she would be done with her NEWTs. And she wouldn't have professors thinking she was a spy in their midst.

She almost snorted. Her, a spy. She was usually as subtle and unobvious as a whack to the head.

A glance at the partner sharing her workbench was an old habit hard to break. It was Neville, a boy she'd supported for six years. She smiled as he began confident, counter-clockwise stirs. Had he grabbed at the chance to sit a Potions NEWT because Severus no longer taught it? Very likely. It was a mark of her friend's character that he could support her and her marriage to a man who'd made his life hell.

She risked a look at Ron –a surprise in Potions- as he stood next to Seamus. Steam plastered his hair to his face, his brow wrinkled with concentration…and some confusion. It surprised her that she felt almost nothing for him. Except the fact that he was being an arse. No regret, certainly.

What was the difference? They'd been friends for so long. She blinked. She'd always contorted herself to fit around him. To take an interest in his life, his concerns, whilst he dismissed her love of books and learning. She could be  _herself_  with Severus…something she'd never really known with her friends.

A smile tugged at her mouth and she changed the stirring rod from glass to iron for the final three stirs. Of course, their relationship was shiny and new and Severus' willingness contrasted sharply against Ron's petulance.

Her potion flared a brilliant orange, the scent of roses drifting on the steam and Hermione bottled her sample. A quick spell scribbled her name, the date and potion around the vial.

She cleared her workspace, repacked her kit and approached the Professor's desk. It was odd not to see Professor Snape's dark head bent over a book, or his quill massacring essays with a gallon of red ink. Shaw twitched a smile at her and took her vial.

He held it up, the colour and viscosity obvious in the light from the tall candle on his desk. "A very credible effort, Miss…Madam Snape." More colour touched his florid cheeks.

Hermione gave him a reassuring smile. It had to be difficult for him to have the wife of one of Europe's best Potion Master's standing before him. A woman he had to judge. Also Severus could be quite…scary. "Thank you, Professor. What should I do now?"

He handed her a sheaf of paper. "Revision and an essay due next lesson."

Hermione scanned it. She bit her lip. The research looked interesting. "I've read about the contrasting uses of differing body parts and how they work with sympathetic magic in more basic potions." She rolled the sheet and tucked it into her bag. "I look forward to digging deeper." She smiled at him and he narrowed his eyes, no doubt expecting the usual groan, or the slumped shoulders of a reluctant teenager.

"You're dismissed, Madam Snape."

She turned, smiling at Harry as he smacked a cork into his sample and passed her on the way to Shaw's desk. He caught up with her as she pulled open the heavy door.

"Defence," he murmured and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "What do you know about the latest teacher?"

She shrugged. "A cool Slytherin. Beyond that…nothing."

Hermione's pleasant mood after an enjoyable potions lesson wilted. Professor Gwendolyn Price. She didn't know what to expect in the coming hours. Sullen silence or a sharp attempt to belittle?

She held back a frown and stared off into the shadows of the dungeon corridor. The familiar scents of stone and hints of herbs, bone and minerals seemed to hang in the air. Unchanged. They could almost be eleven again… Except she knew more about their new Defence teacher than she ever wanted to. And she would share none of it with Harry.

"So, Snape,  _the Headmaster_ , hasn't said anything?"

"We hardly discuss staffing, Harry."

His gaze slid to her, sly and with a sharp hint of amusement. "Too busy?"

She blushed, she knew she had as heat suffused her face. "Do I ask you about Ginny?" She poked his shoulder. "Though to be honest, your  _wife_  is far too willing to share…"

Harry snorted. "It's still so strange. Married. Both of us."

"…And not to each other."

"No, thank the gods!"

Hermione smacked his arm and he yelped. "I'm a catch, I'll have you know."

"Of course you are."

Harry ducked away from her and she laughed. They  _could_  be eleven again. The weight that had burdened them for so many years was gone. Though she had a different worry now. A very different one.

They were the first to arrive at the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom. The lower years scurried past, more than one set of eyes raking across her. Nothing was said. Not openly, but she was certain she heard mutterings as the knots of children were far enough away. She wondered if her words to Ron's…admirers at breakfast had filtered through. She would not have anyone thinking badly of Severus and she would happily deal with their envy.

More of her classmates ambled along the corridor and the door to the classroom groaned open. Harry led the way into the familiar room and dropped into his old seat. Hermione sat beside him. Professor Price was nowhere to be seen.

The knot in Hermione's stomach tightened as more students filed in and found their places. She wasn't exactly nervous, but she doubted this lesson would go well. The professor had obviously thought she could easily pick up her time with Severus. A smile ticked Hermione's mouth as the satisfying word 'mine' filled her again.

Gwendolyn Price appeared at the stone balcony, cool and beautiful. She seemed to float down the twists of the stairwell. "Would you care to share your thoughts, Miss Granger?"

It had begun. "Madam Snape. And I was thinking how good it was to be in this classroom again, Professor."

"Really?"

Had Severus employed a Legilimens? Shit. Occlumency wasn't really a skill she'd mastered, the repression of so many thoughts and emotions an alien concept to her. Hermione smiled at the professor and thought about straddling Severus that morning. The heat of his skin, his face buried in her hair, the hard press of his body against hers… Her beautiful  _husband_.

A line formed on Price's flawless brow. She focused on the class as a whole. "I understand from the Headmaster that your final year was…patchy. Some of you were at the school. A few were not." Her gaze drifted over Hermione, but moved onto Harry and flicked behind the. No doubt picking out Ron and the missing muggleborns denied an education in the previous year. "So for this week's lessons I will assess your practical ability."

Hermione remained still, calm and focused. She didn't find the woman's roving eye. Damn her. She hadn't lifted a wand in anger since the hospital when she'd screamed at the healers. And hadn't lashed an offensive spell since the fifth and final Death Eater. For a moment, she almost missed Umbridge and her view that a book was enough…

" _Madam_  Snape."

Hermione slowly rose. She handed her bag to Harry and waited as Price ordered the others to stand. The Professor cleared the desks to the side with an exaggerated flourish of her wand.

"Take your position, Madam Snape."

Harry, Ron, Ginny and so many others had asked how she'd saved Severus in the Shrieking Shack and she'd always said she had no clue. Only that she had. It had all been instinct. The  _Prophet_  had lauded her as a natural duellist. Hermione thought it was a complete fluke. She was about to find out which one was the truth.

She flexed her fingers around her wand and lifted her chin. No matter the outcome, she would still be Severus' wife. She wrapped her thoughts up in that fact, even as her heart drummed and her breathing quickened. The tension in the room pricked at her skin and she blocked out the quick, anxious whispers of her classmates.

A non-verbal hex streaked towards her. Hermione ducked, her shield with a fast flare of her wand deflecting it. The sudden tight burning down her wand arm at the blast of a powerful stinging hex screamed that her shield hadn't caught all of it. Magic stabbed at her scar. Her fingers spasmed. She hissed and her mind span. How the hell was this a proper assessment?

Price attacked again. Same spell, something modified. Hermione flung up another shield, stronger, thicker. But a clumsy one as her accuracy was compromised. The hex caught her arm again.  _Fuck_. That forced iron spikes down to the bone. Her knees almost buckled at the surge of pain.

Her  _scar_. The bloody woman knew about her scar and was attacking it. She wrapped her left hand around her wand as tremors rattled her right. A third hex sliced over her shield and Price was grinning at her.

"Had enough,  _Madam Snape_?"

Hermione's voice was little more than a growl. "Of you, yes."

She wanted a fight? Anger swelled in her, eclipsing the roaring pain. As if Severus would ever be anyone but  _hers_. Her wedding ring seared against the wood of her wand and magic flared.

Hermione didn't know what she called on, but something burst from her wand and flung itself at the professor. Price flew. Her shield gone. She hit the back wall of the classroom and crumpled to the floor.

Silence. Absolute silence. Hermione sagged, only her locked knees keeping her upright. Her arm hurt like a bitch. She pressed her fingertips gingerly to her sleeve and warm wetness touched her skin. They came away bloody. Shit. She'd opened the scar back up.

"Hermione?" Harry ducked down to meet her gaze. "You all right?"

"Not really."

"What was that?"

"I have no clue."

A smile tugged at his mouth. "Again?"

"Send a patronus to Madam Pomfrey, please, Harry." She risked a glance at the unconscious woman drooped against the far wall. She winced. "I could've really hurt her."

"She was being a cow."

Hermione huffed a laugh. "True." She staggered and Harry wrapped an arm around her waist. "Infirmary for you too."

"Not yet. I need to sit." She flopped into the nearest chair, all the others accept Harry edging away. Still no one spoke. "Could you send a patronus to…to the Headmaster too?" She gave him a half smile. "I would, but my hand is shot."

Harry did as she asked and a stag burst from his wand, taking his messages out into the school. Around her, raw whispers grew. But she couldn't focus on them. Didn't want to. She wanted to sit, boneless and wait for Severus to came and bawl at her. What could she tell him? Magic had ripped out of her because of a jealous woman?

Hermione stared at the wooden floor, her gaze tracing the grain and willing herself to forget the pain in her arm. Was this what it was going to be like now? Having to defend herself against every one of his slighted women?

"All of you out."

Severus' cold, authoritarian voice cut across her dulled senses and she willed her head up. He was all tall, dark raging god. Oh, she was definitely screwed. And not in the good way.

"Potter, you stay."

Severus moved to check on Price and Hermione told herself he was being practical. That it was basic triage. The professor was unconscious.  _She_  was walking wounded. Still, it was an unexpected hurt.

"Severus, what…?" Poppy Pomfrey stood in the doorway. "Is this position  _still_  jinxed?"

"She appears to be unconscious." Severus murmured, running his wand over Price's folded form. He lifted her eyelid. "No residual magic."

"I know my job," the mediwitch muttered. She waved her own wand and conjured a wide stretcher. Another spell lifted Professor Price onto it and with a minimum of fuss, Poppy was guiding the woman out of the classroom. "See to your wife."

Severus glared at her. "I also know my job."

Hermione closed her eyes. All good favour had evaporated between them. Damn, she'd been so happy before breakfast. Life outside the privacy of their rooms was a nasty place to be.

Harry started a run down of what had happened and she let him. Her arm hurt and she felt shitty. She wanted the impossible. For Severus to wrap his arms around her, for her to find the solid beat of his heart and for her to feel safe. She'd had no control of her magic. Guilt stabbed at her almost has sharply as the pain in her arm. Professor Price could have  _died_ …

"Hermione?"

She blinked and looked up. He was crouched before her, his face impassive. His eyes were guarded. They were alone in the classroom. When had Harry gone? "I don't know what spell it was. It simply burst out."

"Give me your arm."

Hermione uncradled her right arm. It still shook and the pain of her reopened scar stabbed at her flesh. The sleeves of her school jumper and shirt split and fell away to reveal her blooded lower arm. She sighed. "It took ages to heal. Price is a complete cow." She winced. Her exhaustion had her mouth moving before her brain kicked in.

Severus snorted. "Not that I can condone your criticising a teacher, but I'd go with fucking bitch."

She stared at him. "You're not angry with me?"

"Angry?" His jaw was tight. "She was unprofessional. This—" He bit back more words. "Maybe Poppy is right. Even with Riddle's happy demise, the position is still cursed." He raised his wand over her scar, the first stirring of magic cooling across her torn skin. "Let me." His smooth voice rolled into a counter-curse. The pain eased under the rhythmic slide of his words caught in the beauty of his voice.

Slowly the flesh closed, the blood staining her skin bubbling and fizzing into nothingness. The scar was still there, raw and red, where as before it had gained the silvery sheen of age.

"I'm sorry it's the best that can be done. The wound is laced with Dark Magic."

Hermione nodded. "I know. It can never truly heal." She held his gaze. "Is this how it's going to be? I've been happy not to pick up a wand in anger." She wiped a hand over her eyes. "All these scorned women."

"She was…put out. But there was nothing like this in her thoughts."

He was defending Price. So much for supporting  _her_. The ache for him to wrap her in his arms sharpened and Hermione viciously pushed it away. "Can you fix my sleeves, please? My right hand is still uncoordinated."

With a flick, her sleeves were scourified and bound together as if they had never been parted. Hermione pushed herself to her feet and stepped back from him. "I think I should rest. I'll be in Arithmancy as planned."

"I'll walk you."

"No need. It's not far."

"I insist."

She shrugged and the urge to make a quip stalled on her tongue. She was tired and the echo of pain still ran through her flesh. She almost as bone-weary after the Shrieking Shack and it wiped every good thought from her brain. Sleep. She needed it to find her sense again.

Severus matched her pace back to her door, a dark intimidating shadow. More than one student stumbled across them, but with a stare and a gape, they all bolted. It seemed Severus did have his uses.

"You've been in the wars, madam." Bedovan the Just frowned down at her. He looked to Severus. "Look after your warrior, sir."

A pinched expression crossed Severus' face, but Hermione ignored it and crossed into her room. She wanted to curl up on her bed and let sleep take the edge of her worry. They were both still so new to this. She couldn't expect a level of caring that came with a normal marriage. It was irrational.

"I need to sleep, Severus." His name felt strange on her tongue. "Thank you for seeing me back."

His face was a mask, but he took her good arm by the elbow and guided her away from her own bedroom. She tried to protest, but he was implacable and she was exhausted. He opened the door to  _his_  bedroom.

"You expended a lot of energy on whatever you did to Professor Price." He pushed her to sit on his freshly made bed, bent and pulled her shoes free. His quick fingers moved to her tie, knotting it, and before she could protest her school jumper was on a nearby chair.

"I can undress myself."

Yet, she didn't stop him as he unbuttoned her shirt and slid her skirt over her hips, taking her tights with it. She shivered in her bra and knickers, even though embarrassment burnt a hot flush down her face to her chest.

His lip lifted. "Nothing I haven't see before, Hermione."

She grew hotter. Severus dropped a chaste kiss to her mouth. A flick of his wand lit the fire in the room. Another flick and  _his_  clothes lay neatly across the chair besides hers. She stared up at him, painfully aware that he stood there practically naked. "Severus…?"

"Into bed." He turned down the covers, warmed the sheets with a charm and urged her in. He opened a small cabinet and retrieved a dark vial. "Blood replenisher."

She knocked the thick gloop back in one and gagged, but a pleasant flow of energy loosened her aching muscles. Severus climbed into the bed beside her and worry and tension thickened in her flesh.

"You are my wife. I am here with you, taking care of you, not her." Severus wrapped his arms around her and pulled her too his bare chest. The strength of him, the solid beat of his heart worked a magic on Hermione and she melted against him. She hated the slow trickle of tears that escaped her, but Severus murmured against her hair and tightened his hold. "This is a strange concept for everyone, Hermione. This…effect I have people. On women." He huffed a laugh. "I had fifth years ogling me today, staring after me in the corridor as if I were Gilderoy Lockhart's dark twin."

Hermione laughed against his chest. "You're beautiful." She rested her chin against his chest, looking up to him and finding the scowl she expected. "You've changed, Severus. I mean there was always…something about you…"

His dark eyes held her, an eyebrow raising and she blushed. His lips twitched. "Did you have a crush on your Potions Master, Madam Snape?"

"Well, there's your voice and your hands, and the whole dark and mysterious…" She pressed her lips together. Her tiredness was making her spill more than she wanted to. "Your being the incarnation has…accentuated that."

"I wore a glamour, to fit in with my role as a spy. With the end of the war, it's no longer necessary. That should explain my sudden and odd…attractiveness." He smirked at her. "Though it was obviously not as successful as I had hoped as it seems some witches saw through it."

Hermione pressed her hot face to his chest, drawing in his scent and letting it relax her. Only their second day of marriage and already he felt like home. Something she hadn't had in the longest time. "Thank you, for this, Severus."

"I promised to support and honour you." He pressed another kiss to her hair. "It's your reward. After all, you did win me fair and square."

Laughter broke from her again and she felt immeasurably better. "We need to know how our magic is changing, Severus. I don't know what I did, but it had something to do with our bond. She threatened it. And I think  _it_  retaliated."

"I will retrieve the Prince journals from Gringotts today."

Hermione sighed and traced the hollow of his spine, enjoying his warmth, his skin against her. But she had to let him go. The Headmaster of Hogwarts hardly had time on the first day of school to  _cuddle_  with his wife.

"Everything is in hand, Hermione. Sleep. I will wake you for lunch."

She placed a kiss to his chest and snuggled. Severus Snape was surprisingly comfortable. "I didn't think I'd be back in your bed  _quite_  this soon."

He tangled his fingers in her hair...and did he just sigh? It sounded strangely happy. "To the victor, the spoils…"

* * *

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

"Hermione."

Warm lips brushed across her forehead and she let out a slow sigh. "I preferred waking up the other way." A groan escaped her. Tiredness was her very own Veritaserum.

Severus' soft laughter deepened her blush. "If we had world enough and time…"

She huffed out a breath and willed her eyes to open. He was dressed, once more the immaculate Headmaster. Shame. Though she did still get to admire –a  _wife_  did not ogle— his lithe and elegant form. "You think me coy?"

"When you're ogling me like a fifth year? No."

Hermione caught her fingers in her tangled hair. "I'm the one woman  _allowed_  to ogle."

A smile pulled at his mouth. "You're feeling better."

"Much. Yes." She let out a long breath. "How is Professor Price?"

"Stable. Suspended."

Hermione blinked. " _Suspended?_ "

Severus sat on the edge of the bed, calm, elegant. Light touched his face, carving it with gold. His eyes were endless. Hermione fought to focus and not lose herself in simply looking at him. He stroked the knuckles of her wand hand, his gaze fixed on the reddened scar. "She used Dark Magic on a student. Manipulated the residual magic in your scar, amplified it. She carved that thing anew."

"Then I was lucky." Her trembling fingers traced a path down Dolohov's scar. "If she'd hit this one, I'd be dead."

Severus squeezed her fingers. "The aurors will investigate. You have nothing to fear. Witnesses have confirmed she hit you three times before you struck back."

"Do they know why she…?"

Severus sighed and a hint of red touched his cheeks. "She's physically stable. Mentally? She's declaiming her right to me." His thumb drew lines against her palm. "She's been moved to the Janus Thickey ward."

"Maenads."

The word burst from Hermione and Severus swore. He was the incarnation of Dionysus. His followers, the Maenads were said to be driven to insanity in the worship of their god. Would she…? Her belly turned over. Would having sex with Severus drive her out of her mind too?

No, she was his wife. Bound to him. He needed her.

"Go to lunch. I need to retrieve the papers from Gringotts now."

"But if you can't… If we can't…"

He dropped a kiss on her forehead and she closed her eyes. She couldn't get this close and  _not_  have him. Her stomach knotted. Was that the start of the craving? The insanity?

"I will not put you in danger." His thumb brushed over her wedding band and the soft stroke of downy wings teased her skin. "Understood?"

She nodded and sighed as he turned and left the bedroom. For a moment, she planted a heavy pillow across her face. As if their current situation wasn't complicated enough.

Hermione willed herself out of bed. She washed her face, tidied her hair as best she could, dressed and headed down to the Great Hall. Students were streaming in and she plopped gratefully down at the Gryffindor table.

"She's gone."

Harry sat next to her and she glanced up at him as she grabbed three roast chicken sandwiches. Her favourite. Had Severus done this? Did he even know? "Who?"

"Price. Professor Price, whatever. Aurors and healers carted her out under a silencing spell." Harry smirked at her. "Good job too. It looked like your  _husband_  wanted to flay her alive."

She frowned. "Why the silencing spell?" She had to know how many had heard Price's insane demands. Be ready for the fall out in the  _Daily Prophet_.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno. But she was screaming, thrashing. They had to bind her in the end." His eyes narrowed. "What spell did you use on her?" He sighed. "I know you don't know. It's the Shrieking Shack all over again, but gods, Hermione, it looks like you drove a teacher insane."

She forced herself to chew. She was hungry. Depleting her magic always made her ravenous. But Harry's words worried her. Though it was better to be weird, shunned Hermione, than any suspicion falling on Severus and what he meant to the magical world. "She was already partly there." She started on her second sandwich. "So am I to be ignored or applauded?"

He laughed and poured juice for them both. "It's running fairly even. Though now, obviously, no one wants to piss you off."

She smiled around her cup. "Obviously."

Harry shuddered. "That was scary. Seriously, you were channelling him."

Ginny dropped down beside her. "Who?"

"Her  _husband_."

His wife smirked. "Is that what it's called now?"

Hermione groaned and buried her face in her hands. "Is this what you two do? Sit in your little room and practise banter?"

"Amongst other things. Yes." Ginny reached across her for a sandwich. "Why what do  _you_  do, Hermione?"

They were trying to distract her, she knew that. But poking at her sex life – one that was practically non-existent and could  _stay_  that way? No. It wasn't funny. "Have you got a free afternoon?"

Harry piled jam tarts onto his plate. "Why are you taking Muggle Studies? You didn't take the OWL. Anything to do with Mr Horse Teeth up there?"

She risked a glance up to the High Table. Severus' chair was empty, but the new Muggle Studies professor sat laughing with Professor Sprout. "Horse Teeth?"

"I pointed out I thought he was handsome. Harry did not take it well." Ginny bit into her sandwich, chewed and swallowed as Harry grumbled. "So every mention of him comes with something…unattractive added."

"I asked early in the summer about the NEWT. Professor McGonagall approved it." Hermione had every intention of ignoring the insults to his teeth. She'd had enough of her own. But the old pain caught her. The memory of Severus —no he was definitely  _Snape_ then— saying, 'I see no difference.' could still cut her to the quick. "And you shouldn't call him that."

Harry pulled a face and turned back to his plate of jam tarts. "He's too…smug."

Hermione finished her juice and pushed herself away from the table. "I need the library. Ginny, coddle your husband."

She smiled as Ginny shifted along the bench to bump hips with Harry. Her fingers threaded through his and she rested her head against his shoulder. Hermione's gaze moved to the empty Headmaster's chair. She'd never be allowed such simple signs of affection. Not in public. The strangeness of her marriage still swirled around her. Could they go further than they already had? Would she be allowed to touch  _him_? Her face heated and she looked away from the High Table.

She put the problem from her mind. Work. And after that they would find out what was possible. Was Severus a direct descendent? She groaned –no more— and strode out of the Great Hall, ignoring the sly looks cast her way. Work. And nothing else.

* * *

"Madam Snape?"

Professor Peter Merrell smiled at her again. He'd been smiling at her for the entire Muggle Studeies double lesson. She wondered if he'd entered the  _Witch Weekly's_  Most Charming Smile Award and how Gilderoy Lockhart had ever beaten him. Was he trying to curry favour with her because of her connection to Severus? Or was he desperate to keep her from throwing a spell at him? She wanted to think on neither. The day had been a disaster. The only good part had been her talk with Professor Vector about her apprenticeship. She simply wanted to escape and soak in a bath before dinner, letting her mind unravel.

"Sir?" She packed the last of her books into her little bag and faced him. The room was silent. She glanced around, everyone else had vanished. How was she the last to leave? Truly, her mind was anywhere but on her studies.

"Call me Peter."

Hermione blinked. "I wouldn't be comfortable doing that, sir." She twitched him a smile.

"Of course." His voice was smooth, deep, but not even close to Severus' velvet baritone. "Why are you taking this NEWT?"

"My friends asked me that." She relaxed a little, though he was still smiling at her and she wished he would stop. "I like the differing view points. The wizarding view. And really, I've been out of the muggle world since I was eleven, and a part from it completely the past few years. Some of this is new to me."

"You could simply go out into Muggle London…"

The smile that came with that statement appeared genuine and she met it with one of her own. "I could. But that wouldn't give me an O at the end of it." The flash of murmuring 'outstanding' to Severus hit her and her belly tightened. Was it obvious that she was thinking of a  _different_  kind of O? She flailed into adding, "Or any sort of mark. I'm being presumptuous. Sorry."

"I simply wanted the assurance that you didn't think this was an easy course."

She was about to say that he could ask any of the professors how hard a worker she was. But that would be a reminder that one of her professors was in the Janus Thickey ward – put there by her. "No, sir. I'm always prepared to put in the time and effort."

His smile moved into something darker and her chest tightened. "Good to know. Until next time, Madam Snape."

"Goodbye, sir." And she happily escaped his classroom.

No, she was with Harry on this one. There was something creepily smug about Professor Merrell. Had Severus employed him too? Or had Professor McGonagall fallen for those smiles and said yes to him in Severus' absence?

Hermione took to the stairs and found her way to her rooms. With a flick of her wand, water ran into her bath, the promise of sweet-smelling bubbles already working up through the steam.

She shed her clothes and sank into the deliciously warm water. Her hair trailed the rim of the bath. She closed her eyes. And wallowed. Bliss. After camping for so many months with the stench of two teenage boys and the old plumbing of Grimmauld Place, this bathroom was complete luxury.

"Madam Snape."

She shrieked, grabbed her wand and flung a hex. With a negligent flick, Severus parried it. He leant against the dark frame of the door to her bathroom. Barefoot and with his shirt loose, her brain melted at the sight of her dark god of a husband. His mouth tugged up at the corner, his eyes wicked.

"Is that anyway to greet a man intent to bring you pleasure?"

"I…" She flopped back into the water. "Trying day."

He pushed himself away from the door. "Then let me offer a little…relaxation before dinner."

She met his dark smile but her stomach hollowed. "Can we still…?"

"Come and see for yourself." He held up a thick cotton dressing gown and Hermione rose from the water. Stepping out of the bath, Severus wrapped the warmed cotton around her wet skin. He nuzzled a kiss to her neck and Hermione shivered. "It is…good news."

The low words whispered against her flesh flashed wanton heat through her body. The suddenness surprised her, and she wanted nothing more than to turn in his arms…but the Prince family papers held more than a promise of their,  _her_  continued pleasure.

He led the way through to his study, another rounded room lined with books. A fire brought warmth to the room, adding light to the floating candles. There was more than one door. "My private laboratory," he murmured as he spread out yellowed parchments and journals across the circular table.

Hermione traced water-wrinkling fingers over the faded writing of the nearest sheaf. A date marked the top corner. "Six hundred years ago."

"Thaddeus Prince, my however-many-times great grandfather."

She smirked at him. "You're a direct descendent."

"Just so."

"Though wizards seem to come to their incarnation as adults, so it's not a given."

"He fathered fifteen children. Three before. Twelve after."

" _Twelve?_ " Hermione almost choked on the word. "Twelve." She pinched her lips. "That would be conclusive proof."

"So it would seem."

His dark gaze slid to her and the thought burned of him sweeping the papers to the floor and spreading her across the smooth table. And doing absolutely unspeakable things to her. She hissed in a breath and fought to bring her mind back to their current problem. Maenads. Women sent insane by his touch. Though a single look from him could send her up in flames just as easily.

Severus opened one of the journals. He stood close and the hint of herbs and sandalwood warmed her. She couldn't help herself, she leant against his arm, her cheek brushed by the smooth wool of his sleeve. Something changed in his voice, a hesitation that drew a smile from her.

"He…mentions his incarnation here." Long fingers flicked over the delicate pages. "He was bested in a duel. They thought him dead." He let her read on.

"'Light shrouded me. Brilliant and fierce. I thought I'd crossed into the veil and would find my Tanilly waiting for me.'"

"Tanilly Makeweather was a Hufflepuff." His mouth quirked upwards. "His first love. A wave of dragonpox took her in her Fifth Year here."

Hermione's stomach clenched. Did Severus see the parallel? Had he thought Lily would be waiting for him when he died in the Shrieking Shack? But  _she_  had pulled him back. Made him…this.

"'But it was not to be. Something held me. A magic seemed grown from the earth itself. Power the like of which I'd never felt. It surged. I felt alive as if for the first time.'" She looked up at Severus' impassive face. "It was the same for you?"

"No. But then I was injured, bleeding out. Was filled with poison from that blasted snake. Later. I felt…something." He flipped forward. "He talks of the need." That hint of a wicked smile was back. "Though he was bound more quickly than I."

"'I was never a handsome man –too much of the Prince in me, my great grandmother would say. But with this new magic in me. This new life. Women fall before me, with a wildness I have never known before. Marianne is not pleased.'"

"His wife."

"His  _wife_?" She stared at the faded handwriting. "He had to give up his wife to be bound to the pure witch?"

"Yes. And here." Severus moved her on. "'I am married again by order of the Ministry. To a girl that contains my new magic. This strange incarnation. Mere days from the thought of finally being with my beloved Tanilly, to finding my old marriage put aside and this new bride in my bed. Neola is a pretty little thing. Our wedding night met with no disappointment.'"

"Randy old goat," Hermione muttered.

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "Him? Or me?"

She smirked at him. "Blood will out."

"Thaddeus went on to father twelve children on Neola. Both of them lived into their third centuries. I don't know who the incarnation was after Thaddeus."

"And the women he managed to snag in his few days?"

Severus blew out a slow breath. "Not much is said. As he mentioned, the Prince line has never been…attractive. He gloated over a beautiful witch who followed him around like a lapdog."

Hermione frowned. "And she simply stopped?"

"No further word is made. She made no threats on Neola."

She swore softly. The gap was annoying. Had Thaddeus connected the wildness of the women to his changed magic? And for it to end without notice? Was it the quick time in which he was bound? Thaddeus had days from his incarnation. Severus was months. "What more does he say on his magic?"

"It waxes and wanes, as Kingsley said. Together, he and Neola were uncommonly strong. In the winter, when his magic fell…" His gaze held her, warm and wanton. "Their children were all born in August, September and October."

Her face burned. For a moment, she closed her eyes. "Sex restores your magic." She almost groaned. "Of course it does."

He pressed a kiss to her temple. "It will do wonders for yours too."

"Promise?"

A wordless wave of his wand and the papers and journals flew through the air to stack themselves neatly into a small, battered wooden chest on the floor. Severus gave her one of those imperious eyebrows. And before she could do little more than squeak, he lifted her and sat her on the table. "What…what are you doing?"

Severus stepped between her parted thighs. His fingers threaded through the damp mass of her hair, tilting her face to him. "You practically shoved this fantasy into my mind." He growled the words against her lips and her pulse thudded. "Tell me what am I about to do?"

"Perform unspeakable acts…"

He smirked against her mouth. "Not yet, Madam Snape."

She teased her fingers along the plan of his jaw, the roughness of a day's growth pricking her fingertips. "Then this is hardly my fantasy, Severus."

"When you are ready," his low voice curled through her flesh, teasing, warming her, "we will share such pleasure…"

Hermione's eyes drifted shut, her need for him already licking beneath her skin. Her fingers gripped the smooth wool of his frock coat, wanting him closer. "Believe me, I'm ready."

His lips brushed her, perfect, smooth, a tantalising taste of him. "I told you, the decision is mine." His fingers tugged at the tie securing her robe and she gasped as his fingertips stroked over her bared hip. "I want to take my time. If Thaddeus' journal is to be believed we could have  _centuries_  together."

Hermione's chest tightened unexpectedly and heat suffused her. Centuries. With this man. That thought ran hotter through her than his obviously skilled touch. Yes, she was absolutely and completely in lust. She drew in a deepened breath. "Could I be sharing the madness?"

For a long moment, she lost herself in the darkness of his endless eyes. His velvet whisper thickened her pulse, "You  _inspire_  it."

The table was the perfect height. That was the only coherent thought that burst into Hermione's head when Severus found her mouth and pulled her hard against him. Her damp, bare body pressed against his frock coat and she  _ached_  for skin. For heat, his scent, to press her mouth to his neck, to line of his collarbone, to lick and kiss and  _taste_ … "Please, Severus…"

His long fingers found her and she arched into his touch, a cry breaking from her. "Not yet, Hermione." The sound of her name, wrapped in his beautiful voice, fired the heat in her flesh, tightened every ounce of her. "Soon." His lips brushed her ear and she clung to him, her body trembling. "Soon, I will drive every thought from your head as I take you. As I make you  _mine_."

Fire and joy flared through her, violent, beautiful, a wild riot that wrought a half-scream from her. She fell against him, spent, shaking and he wrapped strong arms around her, pressing a chaste kiss to her throat. A long sigh escaped her. "I am  _so_  easy."

Severus huffed a laugh against her skin and it rippled a delicious shiver along her still-sensitive body. "You are delightful."

Her heart tightened. Centuries with this man. Finally luck –if completely unexpected- had found her, it seemed. She lifted her face to him. "But you." Fresh heat burned her cheeks. "You haven't…" She pulled in her courage. "Let me do something for you."

He pressed a kiss to her mouth. "In time."

"Severus…"

He drew back and she missed his touch, his warmth. "You must make yourself ready for dinner."

"If I must."

He lifted an eyebrow. "I'm sure many would enjoy your nakedness, Madam." A dark glitter burned in his gaze. "I would then have to wipe the school clean as I duelled every single one of them to the death."

She smirked at him and patted his chest. "You say the nicest things."

He gave her a mocking little bow. "I try."

Her smirk deepened and she reluctantly pushed herself from the table. "Do you plan to do wicked things to me in every room and on every stick of furniture?"

"You leave me with that pleasant thought. Thank you." He turned her out of the study and some of the heat left his gaze. "I will read more of Thaddeus' journals. There are no others here who can turn against you. Still stay safe, Hermione."

The door shut and Hermione released a long breath. Between them now, it appeared to be easy, simply humour and pleasure –though they were still in the first flush of whatever this was— until the intrusion of the real world. Had Neola found the same problem? Though that pure witch had a put aside wife to deal with. And Tanilly. Had Thaddeus grown to share more with Neola than an incredible sex life?

Her chest squeezed at the thought of Lily Evans. Would an obstacle form in the shape of Severus' own true love? Was it something the incarnation  _needed_? Some desperate lost love?

Hermione turned away to her rooms. It was hardly something she could ask him. And she didn't expect his love, as no doubt, he thought little of it from her. Friendship and a healthy dose of mutual lust. They could get along with that quite happily. She cinched the belt tight around her waist. They could.

* * *

 

 


	14. Chapter 14

* * *

"You look flushed, Hermione. Are you feeling quite well?"

She resisted hexing the former Miss Weasley, but only just. Hermione sank onto the bench, rested her elbows onto the table and pushed her fingers into the still-wild tangle of her hair. "Ginny, please. Enough."

Her friend stilled. "Are you all right?" All teasing had left her voice and her quiet words cut through the tumult of the Great Hall.

"Hermione?"

Away from the sense of security Severus could wrap around her, doubts pushed at Hermione. Every step she had taken from her rooms to the Great Hall, the prick of guilt pained her. Everything in her wanted Severus Snape to be free. And she had bound him. Just as securely as Voldemort and Dumbledore had. And he was trying so hard to be honourable and supportive.  _Contained_. She wanted to spit at the word. Friendship and lust. She had pulled those ideas to herself and hugged them. Wanted them. Still did. But Severus deserved more.

A wry smile tugged at her mouth. It was a shame she no longer had a time turner. She could tear back into the past and destroy Voldemort by stealth. Take out his horcrux, make him mortal and have him dead before anyone could blink. Severus could still lose Lily, but perhaps he would be the clever, charming and  _talented_  man he appeared to her and find himself a fitting wife.

Ginny was still waiting on her. And she pushed out a slow breath. If he wasn't twice-born, would the incarnation have found him? Hermione pushed the stupid thoughts away. It was pointless. She had bound him. Would bind him forever.

"Tired," she murmured and was grateful that Ginny didn't poke fun around the word. She piled potatoes and green beans onto her plate and speared two slices of beef. "Long day."

Owls swooped in, filling the air with the susurration of their soft wings. Ginny winced. "It could get longer."

"The Headmaster is filtering my post."

An owl dropped Hermione's copy of the  _Evening Prophet_  into the bread basket and she almost groaned. Ginny was right. Shit.

"Do you want me to look at it first?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "No. No, I'll read it. How bad can it be?"

Ginny wouldn't meet her gaze. Yes, it would be awful.

Hermione unrolled the paper and swore softly. On the edges of her vision she was aware that more than one head had swung to stare at her. Heat burned her face. The hacks at the  _Prophet_  did so  _love_  to carve her up.

_Harpy Bride to Headmaster, Severus Snape._

The headline screamed at her from the front page. They'd swung the other way. Severus was no longer the evil in their marriage. And they'd dragged out the picture of her in St Mungo's, standing over him, wild and blood splattered. But she obviously wasn't a heroine of the war. Now she was a crazed harpy fighting for her man.

She scanned the words beneath the lurid picture. They were reporting the duel with Professor Price, with Price as a poor teacher trying to reason with a headstrong Hermione…until she was blasted into the wall.

_'"Hermione -Mrs Snape- stood over her (Professor Price's) body and laughed," reported a terrified student in the Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson with Hermione Snape this morning. "She wouldn't let us go. We were freaking. She was going to turn on us next, I know it. The war with Tom Riddle changed her. Made her into this...mad woman, obsessed with Snape. With the Headmaster. Only him turning up stopped her. She stared at him —like he was a prime steak, delicious and thick— and she forgot all about us. Then we escaped."'_

Hermione scrubbed at her face. Ron. Ron had reported this. Only he would be so descriptive about food and plain on everything else. Though he'd been sensible to keep his identity secret.

_'Hermione Snape, is a muggle-born bride who will attack anyone who comes between her and her man. Poor Severus Snape. Was Lord Voldemort not enough?_

_'For more on Hermione Snape nee Granger's scandalous love life, turn to pages 5,6 and 7.'_

_Bastards._ Hermione closed her eyes and took deep breaths.  _Fucking bastards._ But…they could use this. If they couldn't find a way to stop the Maenads, her jealous guarding of Severus would make sense as she fought them off. And the  _Prophet_  hadn't followed up with Price and how she'd left Hogwarts.

Hermione winced, she wondered when students would start to shout Harpy Snape at her in the corridors of the castle.

"If I can have your attention." A sonorous charm carried Severus' voice over the wild noise of the Great Hall. Within a moment, there was complete silence. Hermione willed himself to look at him. He stood at the High Table, his face cold, the flicker of anger tightening it. "No doubt, you are all enjoying the _Prophet's_  evening edition."

Nervous shuffling cut through the silence. Hermione knew what they were thinking. It was one thing to laugh about him, but he still was  _Severus Snape_. Yes, he was a war hero, and yes there was that strange change in him, but he was probably the most feared teacher in Hogwart's history. You crossed him at your peril.

His obsidian gaze swept the hall, cold and relentless. "I offer this in its stead. If I read any more reports about my marriage or  _my wife_ , I  _will_  find you."

He left the threat hanging and sat down. Even Hermione –whom he was defending— felt the chill run down her spine. He didn't need more. Every single one of the students in the room were imagining –in excruciating detail— what he would do.

Hermione's narrowed gaze slid to Ron. He was focused on the thick slab of beef on his plate. A splotch of red touched his cheeks. Would he take  _that_  as the final warning to leave her, them well alone?

Ginny patted her hand. "Say what you will about him, he does protect you."

Hermione looked up to her husband, a fierce mix of emotions holding her. She wished he didn't have to. That he could be free. But she was thankful that he'd defended her. His eyebrow rose, his lip twitched at the corner…and there was the other emotion. That display of power and protectiveness? She wanted to throw herself at him, strip and devour him. A smile pulled at her mouth. Maybe she  _was_  a harpy.

"Oh he's getting some tonight," Ginny murmured.

Hermione snorted and she shook her head. "Is there nothing else on your mind?"

Ginny shrugged and picked up her cutlery. "Not really, no."

Hermione ate and tasted nothing. Even under Severus' threat, there were still the stares. The whispers. It would get better. She'd been through this so many times. And it  _did_  get better. She sighed and pushed away the last of her cake. "I should…"

"Go to the library and make a start on your homework?"

Harry grinned at her. He'd arrived late, dropping down beside his wife half way through their dinner. Something about quidditch and how he could perhaps coach, but not play as he wouldn't be at Hogwarts for the whole year. Hermione had to admit she hadn't paid close attention after the word 'quidditch'.

"I have three essays and a research plan for my apprenticeship to devise." She smirked at him. "There are only sixteen weeks –less- until we take our NEWTs."

"Since you're taking every NEWT ever known—"

"Except Divination," Ginny butted in.

"Except Divination, you need the library time now. We have these strange things called 'free periods' were we can go and work." He grinned at her.

Hermione lifted an eyebrow, well aware –and from Ginny's short laugh—that she was again channelling her husband. "And did you? Did you make a start on your Potions essay this afternoon?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You could sit your exams tomorrow and get Os in the lot."

"Not my point, Mr Potter."

Laughter broke over him. "You've been married three whole days. It's unnatural how much you're already like him."

She gave him a sharp smile. "Thank you." She clambered from the bench and straightened her jumper.

"When you're free, we've been granted a Married Common Room." Ginny smiled up at her. "We were all feeling a bit…strange. So rather than go back to our Houses –and scare the Firsties— we meet in the room behind the giants' landscape. About three portraits up from you."

Couples sharing their stories of their time together. Cuddling up on couches. Sloping back to their rooms, as everyone smirked. And her. Alone. Unable to share anything. Even if she wanted to. She forced a smile. "Good. Sounds great. I'll probably see you later then."

"They're not like us. Like me and Ginny." Harry winced and let out a long breath. "It isn't what you're thinking, Hermione. There are five muggle-born wives paired with seventh years . The other three have husbands outside of Hogwarts. We're all learning how to be together, to work together. It's shitty…but they want to find a way out." Harry took her hand, his thumb rubbing over her knuckles. "And for all our joking, that has to be your goal too."

Guilt thickened in her gut. Shit.  _Shit_. It should be a challenge she craved. The injustice of it. The fact that male muggle-borns were exempt, that wizards obviously didn't want their pure-blood daughters  _sullied_. She gritted her teeth and pushed down her anger. Duty bound her. She could never break away from her own husband. They were partners. And when she was with him, she didn't want to. Did that make her a party to the Wizengamot? But she could  _not_  deny anyone in the wizarding world a right to magic.

She looked to Severus, talking quietly to Professor Vector and he paused. He always knew when she was watching him. Always. He held her gaze and a frown drew his brows together. She twitched a smile, before her attention turned back to Harry. She squeezed his hand. "I  _will_  drop by soon."

Memory built into her feet took her to the library. Fuck. Everything was shifting. Moving. Her plans, her way forward unsure. The danger to her –to them?— from Severus' summer witches. The  _Prophet_  on yet another rampage against her. Those caught in the Marriage Law, a law that didn't truly cover her and because of that, she was stuck in what help she could give. It felt insane that the only constancy in her life was her husband.

Severus had put aside his obvious fury and promised to honour and respect her. And he was doing just that as yet another duty bound him and took his freedom.

They needed to know more on what the incarnation meant. Kingsley had been scant in his information, but it wasn't a lie. What Severus was now and her role was very much real. She knew that much, felt it. Saw it in Severus. Their first task was solving the problem of the Maenads. The  _Prophet_  could go hang. And she would sidestep helping those caught in the Law. Her gut twisted with guilt, hating that she couldn't help to right such an obvious wrong.

With her mind finding some focus, Hermione pushed open the heavy door to the Library and the calming scent of the book stacks washed over her. She breathed in the familiar odour and gave a smile to Madam Pince.

She would work on her essays, wrap her mind up in potions and symbols, lose herself for a while.

And she did, stacking books around herself in a leather and paper fortress and writing up drafts of both her Potions and Arthimancy essays. She was pondering her Muggle Studies essay, when movement caught in the corner of her eye. Professor Merrel. He strode down the central aisle, a swirl of bright robes and smug self-assurance. More than one student cast covetous eyes over him. Hermione swore under her breath and slouched in her chair, hoping her piles of books hid her well enough for him not to see her.

"Hermione!" Merrel smiled at her, all gleam and brilliance, though seemingly without the aid of magic. That had to be a very subtle charm. No man's smile was that dazzling. "You said you were a hard worker." He leaned over the nearest pile of books to read the parchment in her hand. "My essay."

He sounded pleased. Did he think she'd picked it up for him? "I would prefer Madam Snape, Professor Merrel."

"We're almost colleagues. Septima said you're to apprentice to her in the new year."

Hermione gave him a short smile. "Still, Professor, I would prefer, Madam Snape."

There was an edge to his smile that rippled unease through her, and brought goosebumps out on her skin. "I understand."

She needed Neola's journals. Had she written about her life with Thaddeus? Would men begin to act strangely around  _her_ now? Or was Professor Merrel simply a creep?

"I have to get this done. My husband is expecting me."

"Oh, don't mind me." He started to dismantle her stacks, examined one of the newer tomes on muggles and sat down next to her.

Hermione gritted her teeth and fought to ignore him. It was difficult. He had on a liberal dash of muggle cologne, its synthetic base stinging her senses. Was he any relation to McLaggen? His thick hide definitely gave that impression.

She scratched away on her parchment as her nose itched, too aware that he cast looks at her. Long looks. Though what he could find of interest in her all-concealing jumper, she didn't know. But her focus was gone because of him.

Hermione closed her eyes and held in a sigh. She could finish this the next day and without interruption. It wasn't due until the following Monday. She had time.

With a spell Madam Pince had rather reluctantly taught her –though the Librarian did like to get her out of her Library as quickly as possible— Hermione flicked her wand and sent the books back to their proper shelves. Merrel stared at her and then after the heavy, leather-bound books as they ducked and dived, swooping around students to find their homes.

Whilst he was distracted, she quickly packed her bag. She gave him a thinly polite smile. "Good evening, Professor." She turned and ignored the thud of his book against the table.

"Allow me to walk you back."

 _Fuck_. Could the man not take a hint? She quickened her pace. "I've lived here for a long time. I know my way around."

"Then you can help me. I'm still getting lost."

It was an opening to ask where he had schooled. Hermione didn't take it. And she'd be damned before she'd let him know which portrait guarded her rooms. Which left her only one option. "I found wandering around and getting lost very helpful when I was first here." A lie, but she was willing to say a lot to get rid of him. Strange man. What could he hope to gain from engaging her?

She walked quickly and found the stairs, trotting up them as they swung to the next floor. She had a hope that the trick step would catch Merrel out, but he avoided it, making his lack of knowledge about the castle the lie she knew it to be.

She would have to take him all the way to Severus' office. And Merrel seemed determined to stick with her. He chatted about his research in the muggle world and –damn him— some of it  _was_  interesting. Drawing her in against her will.

The stairs finally swung into the seventh floor. Merrel dogged her down the long, gargoyle corridor to the Headmaster's office. Her belly was tight. She didn't know the password to Severus' office. They'd both assumed she would gain entrance via the third floor –and with so much else going on in such a short time— Hermione hadn't given it another thought.

She stopped before the furled griffin in its bright alcove, guarding the staircase up to Severus' office. She pressed her hand to a carved leg and turned to Merrel. "Thank you for the escort."

"I'd be happy to meet up again. You've missed so much in your time away from the muggle world-"

"Thank you, no. It's fine…" The griffin rumbled and spun away to reveal the twist of the stone steps. Hermione staggered, but a warm hand caught hers before she completely lost her feet.

Severus gave her a slow smile and lifted her hand to his mouth. His lips brushed her knuckles and warmth burst through her. "There you are, madam."

His dark gaze slid to Merrel. "Can we help you, Professor?"

"Simply returning Hermione."

"Madam Snape." The title was bitten out between herself and Severus.

Merrel merely bowed his head, gave her one of his smiles and turned on his heel. Hermione glared after him as he disappeared down the dimly lit corridor. "He is insufferable."

Severus released her hand, and urged her up the stairs before him. "Minerva took him on." He opened his office door. "I'm assuming his teeth blinded her into submission."

Hermione snorted. "He appears to know his subject. I just wish he would be a little less…over familiar."

Candles flickered out as they passed, dropping deep shadows behind them. "A beautiful, recently married young witch. Some wizards are drawn to that."

Severus followed her up the stairs to his sitting room. The warmth and familiar scent of leather, books and the smoky hints of the fire wrapped around her and she let out a long breath. Here she could be herself again. Here was  _safe_. Hermione gratefully flopped into one of the chairs before the hearth and stretched the ache out of her shoulders. "Why?" She kicked off her shoes and curled into the soft cushions. "I don't see the attraction."

Severus undid the top buttons to his frockcoat and loosened his cravat. Hermione tried not to stare at the sliver of newly revealed skin. And failed. He sat in the opposite chair, all lithe elegance compared to her tired slump. "It's a game for purebloods. Stealing something precious away from right under the nose of a fellow wizard."

Hermione lifted her eyebrow. "I am not a thing." Her mouth curled. "And if so, he's not exactly subtle. Wouldn't you have to be subtle?"

"I didn't say he was any good at it."

Hermione laughed as Severus called on an elf and ordered tea. Moments later, she was wrapping her chilled hands around a bone china mug. There was nothing quite like elf-made tea. What to do twisted within her. She felt strange asking Severus to warn Merrel off. She was not his chattel to be protected. She was perfectly capable of defending herself. Professor Price was evidence of that. Yet, if she'd been a normal student, she'd have little regret in approaching the Headmaster concerning the inappropriate actions of a member of his staff.

"I can speak to him." Severus looked at her over his mug, the fire caught golden in his dark eyes. "Remind him that you are still a student here. And offer the added reminder that the other married girls are not to by played for either." His smile was wry. "Now we simply have to see what Professor Shaw's idiosyncrasies are."

"I dread to think," Hermione murmured. Her gaze had returned to the pale sliver of revealed skin at his throat. Her pulse had jumped. Which was insane, as she had seen his bare chest only that morning. It was almost…Victorian of her. Though that did fit the archaic nature of the wizarding world…

"Something catching your attention, Madam Snape?"

And that voice –and title— had her heart working harder. "Did Neola react this way to Thaddeus? The slightest…" Heat burned in her face that had little to do with the fire or the warmth of her tea. "You know how I react to you. It's still…surprising."

"Nothing of Neola has come down to me. Whether through design or omission. It's doubtful they regarded her papers at the time as holding importance."

"No," Hermione muttered. "She was simply binding a god for the good of wizardkind."

Severus gave an elegant shrug. "Not that I agree. It would help us to know her view. Thaddeus enjoyed his new strength, often regretting that he couldn't share his vital position, for others to recognise his importance." He set his mug down on the tray. "Only those who share his change could read his journals and he wasn't writing for posterity. He gave little thought –had any idea— that another of his blood would share his gift."

"Then we're on our own."

"So it would seem." His mouth twisted. "I even resorted to another owl to Kingsley, demanding everything he know about the incarnation." His expression darkened. "Five people know of our…situation. And each one of them is held under an Unbreakable Vow. Yet even they know the bare minimum. That is, what Kingsley already shared."

"They don't want to know. Before this, I thought magic was something within me, created in my own flesh. To know I'm only borrowing it. That it's there on the whim of a god…?" She caught her hand in her hair. It wasn't simply a secret to be kept from muggles. For witches and wizards to realise the tenuous nature of their magic? It would shake to the ground everything they believed.

She sat forward, determined to remove the air of depression hanging over them with a change of subject. "The function, Severus. Where are you to take me dancing?"

His eyes narrowed, but he took the bait. "As I have already informed you, madam. I do not dance."

"So…where will you  _not_  be dancing?"

A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth. "A Ministry event promoting international good will. After the fall of Riddle, Britain is keen to promote the image that we're sane now."

Hermione couldn't help the laugh that broke from her. "How many new muggle-born wives will be in attendance?"

Severus wagged a finger at her. "Creating more wizards is an act of sanity…"

She glared at him, before turning her angry gaze on her mug. "And I have to offer no dissent."

Severus paused and in the silence there was only the crackle and spit of the fire. "I'm sorry."

It seemed her attempt to lift their conversation hadn't worked. But she didn't want to leave the warm safety of his sitting room. The thought of escaping to the Married Common Room and witnessing the true affects of the law twisted her insides. Curling up with tea and a book would help to keep her sanity.

Her husband –and that would continue to be a strange title for a good while longer— pushed himself out of his chair. She tracked him across the room to the curving wall of books. Almost lost to the shadows, he waved a hand, the flames from the fire limning his pale skin with gold. "Minerva will see you twice a week. Tuesdays and Thursdays. The function will fall on 26 September."

"So soon..."

A book pulled free from the shelf and dropped into his waiting palm. He made magic appear so…elegant and easy. "I argued that I had a school to run, that you had your NEWTS revision, that our marriage was new. Even then...it was the first one they felt we could not refuse. Unbelievably, I turned down at least  _seven_  before this." He settled back into the heavily padded chair. "They will become much more…numerous." He winced. "I imagine Christmas will be a nightmare."

Long fingers flicked open the ancient tome, its leather spine creaking. "You have no plans for tonight?"

She shook her head. What was he offering? It seemed as if he planned to settle in as she had considered doing. A good book before a warm fire.

His mouth lifted at the corner and her insides gave her that familiar little swoop. There really shouldn't be so much promise –and wickedness— in so small an action. "You may share my fire."

"And your books?"

"So presumptuous, madam."

She was becoming ever so fond of that title. In a short time, it had come to signify their ease, their time within these rooms. She held him here…and yet, in these moments, she didn't want to be anywhere else. The flicker of guilt left her too easily as her body heated under his tempting voice.

Hermione climbed out of her chair. His book rested on his lap, his long fingers laid lightly on old velum. He looked up, firelight, caught in his dark gaze. Her heart squeezed. "Is that a yes?"

Severus took her hand and brought it to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to her palm that rippled a delicious shiver down to the bottom of her spine. "Anything in this room."

Her brain kicked into life. "Ah, there are other books in other rooms?"

"Hermione…" Sin wrapped around her name and she pressed trembling fingers to her lips. "Find a book. We will enjoy a quiet night and retire."

Hermione swallowed, fresh need flaring through her tightened flesh. "To…?"

"My bed, yes. Did you have any doubt?" That smile was there again, edged with wickedness and all air left her lungs. "I have so much more to show you."

 

* * *

 


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

Her gaze drifted to him for possibly the seventh time and with a short huff of breath Severus looked up. Amusement warmed his eyes. "You can speak."

Hermione's face grew hot. She could hardly help that that she found him more fascinating than the weighty book in her lap. His hair fell in a shining sheet around strong features touched by gold. Watching the regular turn of velum by his long, elegant fingers, the soft sound mixing with the creak of ancient leather, was almost an addiction.

She should fight it. He wasn't hers. If anything, he belonged to a long dead woman…as had the last Prince who shared his fate. But the urge to throw herself at him steadily increased.

"Hermione." Severus closed his book with a soft thud and placed it on the table beside his armchair. "You are my wife and I want you. Never doubt either of those two facts." He stood and offered her his hand. "Come."

She closed her book. Her hesitant hand folded into his. Warm, calloused fingers squeezed hers and she worked a smile to her lips. The metal of his wedding ring ghosted against her skin. "It's just that..." Her other hand closed over their joined ones and her thumb caressed the delicate webbing of his ring. "I…I want you."

She stumbled over her words. She could never be as sure, as confident in stating her needs as him. Which was almost laughable. Severus Snape, the most secretive man in the wizarding world, more open than she.

"But you feel you shouldn't?" His voice was a velvet whisper, the shape of his lips suddenly so very kissable. He tilted his head. "There's no guilt in this desire."

"You should've had a choice. As I did."

"And you still chose me." He drew her closer, his face falling into shadow. "This time, this change in both our circumstances is…trying, I admit. But for all its suddenness, I don't regret that you are my wife, Hermione."

She pressed her lips together to deny the sudden rush of tears that threatened to break free. Lily Evans had been an idiot to ignore her chance with this man. She smiled, easing his hand to her mouth and kissing his knuckles. Her lips brushed his wedding ring and she tasted cool silk, a whisper of it, almost a mist. Her smile deepened and she looked up at him, an eyebrow lifting. "But you did regret it? When you first heard."

His eyes narrowed and he wrapped his arm around her. He teased a kiss from her lips and she sighed, lifting her face to chase after his mouth. "No doubt you had the same stunned reaction to my name."

"You're ignoring my question."

He smirked at her. "I'm sure I'll ignore many in our time together."

Hermione frowned at him. "I hate to see you…bound, Severus." Hell, even the Prophet had compared her to Voldemort. "If I hadn't…"

"You have no guilt in this." He released her hand and his large palm cupped her face. His dark eyes were fierce. "If you hadn't come for me in the Shrieking Shack, I would be dead. If you were not as –untouched— as you are I would still be bound, though to a much lesser witch." His thumb stroked her lip. "And I would not have the privilege of being the first man to ravish you."

Hermione snorted. The clock chimed the hour. "Ravishing time?"

He stepped back from her and waved her towards his bedroom. "I agree."

* * *

Silent spells brought life to the low fire and added light and warmth to Severus' dark bedroom. She breathed in yet more of his familiar scent, something about the mix of sandalwood, herbs and simply him easing the stress from her muscles.

He stepped up behind her and cupped her shoulders, his mouth finding the skin above her heavy jumper. She shivered and he smiled against her neck. "I do like that no one else knows the secrets you hide."

She frowned. "I don't hide anything."

He turned her in his arms. His lips lifted. "True, you are open and unspoilt. But…" His finger drew a curve above her breasts. "You value comfort and practicality. Beneath this," he stroked a line between her breasts, "I know there is a delicious little witch aching for my touch."

"You're saying I'm frumpy!"

"I am  _saying_ ," with a complex little flick of his wand, her jumper vanished from her body and dropped –neatly folded— on a chair beneath the curved window, "that I don't want others to see you as I do."

"You like me frumpy."

"I like you  _naked_."

Heat burned in her face, but she met his gaze. "And that's a pleasure I don't get."

"Such a bossy little witch," he murmured as he edged her back to the bed. Wandless, whispered words spread warmth over the chilled sheets. "You had me naked only this morning."

"Not properly. Not touching you. Not with my mouth on you."

His chest lifted and lust sparked in his eyes. She was sure of it. But she had to push him. It'd hardly been half a week of a forced marriage, yet still, she had to have him. It was as if a wildness gnawed at her, her need for him constant and thick in her veins. Especially now with the promise of pleasure.

"Hermione…"

"Can't we rush it just a little bit?"

Another wave of his wand divested her of all of her remaining clothes and him down to his underwear. She growled at him and he smirked. He was telling the truth about wanting her, though. His solid erection strained against his shorts and the urge to touch, to stroke, to tease fired through Hermione's fingers.

Severus pushed her onto the bed. "To  _eager_."

"Would you want a plank in your bed?"

"A plank would certainly be less grabby."

She snorted, but flushed when his gaze roved over her nakedness. For a moment, he'd made her forget again. He was good at that. Her hands twitched to cover herself. Severus shook his head and her fingers stilled.

"I like to see you. It helps me decide which part of you I should touch, and lick and bite next."

Hermione closed her eyes at the promise in his voice, the way it flickered dizzying heat under her skin. How did anyone resist him? And why would they want to?

The bed dipped and his warmth stretched over her, the brush of his skin a charge against her own. She sucked in a nervous breath, her body unbearably tight. The ache between her thighs thrummed and she fisted the warmed sheets in trembling fingers.

"How many times will I make you come tonight?"

The question burned against her lips, the hint of a dark smile edging his words. She assumed it was a rhetorical question. She hoped it was, as she couldn't reply. She was having a hard enough time simply breathing. With every shallow draw of her lungs, she drew  _him_  into her body. His scent, the tempting taste of his lips, the warmth of his breath. Her nipples peaked, desperate for his fingers or –oh gods— his wicked mouth…

"Severus, please…"

Hermione willed her eyes open, finding him arched over her, his arms corded and strong either side of her, his long, muscled legs stretched out between her own. His hips and hers were only a hairsbreadth apart, but a seemingly vast space to the ache that gripped her. She wanted, needed to lift and twist her body to his, slide herself against his almost daunting erection. Feel the heat, the power of him…

His endless eyes held her. "Do you think begging has ever worked on me?"

He dipped his body, pushing against her, the clothed head of his dick rubbing over her clit, tormenting and teasing. Promising something he would deny her.

She glared at him. She may not have had the experience, but she had an imagination and she unleashed it on him. "Have they begged to lick you?" She tasted his upper lip, her smile arch. "To please let them take you? To push into their mouth, inch by hot inch, all the way. Let you feel it. Wet and hot, sucking—"

"Enough!" He growled the word against her mouth, his body taut. She could almost feel the vibration as he reined himself in. "You have a dirty mouth, girl."

"Then put it to use."

He closed his eyes and a vein jumped in his temple, his jaw tight, his face strained. He was imagining her with her mouth around him. Heat beat in her face, shy unease and want warring within her. Before she knew it, more words fell from her.

"Am I on my knees? Here in this bedroom? Or is it more filthy, Severus? Am I tucked away under your desk in the Headmaster's office? Between your thighs, my mouth hot and wet, my slicked fingers pumping you as you try to work." Her breath caught and a pulse of unexpected pleasure rippled upwards as a dirtier thought hit her. "Or is someone there?"

His eyes shot open, black and fierce, his breathing hard and fast. "Enough…" The word was almost strangled.

Her heart pounded. What the hell was she doing? This wasn't her. But she had to have him. It was right. She couldn't stop. She licked her lips and his gaze arrowed there. "Do they know your little wife has your dick in her mouth, Severus?"

"No."

Hermione's eyes half-lidded, her spine arching up to his body and meeting the hard thrust of his hips. Whether he was denying her, or deepening her fantasy, she didn't care. It was the right word.  _Absolutely_  the right word.

"Tell them to leave." She groaned as he rolled his hips. "I want you to fuck me on your desk."

"Gods, girl." His head fell beside hers, covering every inch of her body with his, the heat and weight, overwhelming, delicious. "The portraits."

"Let them see…"

His mouth found her neck, nipping and licking at sensitive skin, even as his fingers slid between her legs. He took away the broad pleasure of his dick, but offered— She groaned. His clever,  _clever_  fingers found her clit, teased her folds and a fierce and uninhibited "Fuck!" burst from her as her orgasm smashed over her in one thick and damning wave.

But for his crushing weight she would have flailed, her body hardly her own as her heels kicked and her fingers clutched and flapped at the sheets. He held her then, wrapping strong arms around her and laughter huffed against her neck.

"My dirty,  _dirty_  little wife."

Hermione pressed her forehead against his chest, her face blazing. What had she been thinking? Never in a thousand years could she ever be that bold…yet the fantasy of it. Even now, it chased the aftershock of her orgasm through her flesh. She still wanted a part of it. A part he could grant her now. She planted kisses against his chest, tasting sweat and his delicious skin. Her insides twisted, the want rising again. He was still steel against her belly. "Let me, Severus."

He stilled. "Hermione…"

She pressed her lips together. "Not  _that_." She had to be pure beetroot her face was so hot. "Here and now, let me use my mouth on you."

A moan rumbled in his chest and he tightened his hold. He dropped a kiss on her temple. "This isn't about me. You are wholly innocent."

"No. I'm not." She wiggled against him, forcing herself lower until her mouth was level with a dark nipple. She licked it and smiled at his sudden expletive. "I'd rather not leap on your whilst you're asleep. I'm liable to be hexed." She sucked his flat nipple into her mouth, her teeth grazing it and earning her an appreciative hiss. "It would ruin the mood."

His fierce hold loosened, one hand threading through her hair, the other stroking her back in a slow slide. "Hexing you would be…tempting."

"Wicked man," she murmured, dropping a light kiss below his nipple. "No licking for you."

His deep chuckle warmed her and she smirked up at him. Humour lightened his face and his beauty caught her. Her heart twisted and she had to look away, closing her eyes and leaving open mouthed kissed against his ribs. "Lower?"

"If you must…"

He eased onto his back, his fingers still teasing through her hair, his other hand drawing lines against her shoulder. Nerves and excitement rushed around her thoughts. Could she do this?

She'd never considered performing fellatio for any man. Ever. She'd overheard giggling conversations from Lavender and Parvati and her time as a prefect had brought her more than once upon a boy hastily turning away and his partner of choice scrambling up from their knees. Ron had even suggested it that summer… She pushed down that disturbing memory. It had no place at this time, with  _this_  man.

She looked up and found Severus watching her, his mouth parted, his eyes heated and endless. In this moment, he was hers. Completely.

Her mouth dipped, and she held his gaze as she tasted a line across his chest. He pulled in a sharp breath. In the flickering gold and shadows cast by the fire, his skin was hot, with only a thin trail of ebony hair taunting her. Scars tracked him and she peppered light kisses and sweeping her tongue over them, just as she'd promised only that morning.

Hermione blew across his wet skin, watching his flesh prickle and she smiled as he gasped.  _Hers_. The thought tightened her belly and she moved lower, eager for him. She traced her fingers across his flat stomach, following the line of his shorts, dipping a thumb beneath the band. Fingers joined it, and with a helpful shift in his hips, she drew them back over his erection.

Even as she pushed his shorts down his strong thighs, her breath stirred against his dick and she blinked as it twitched. "It moved."

"It has…a mind of its own."

She laughed and kissed it, the velvet smoothness wrapped over fierce steel surprising her. Drawing a light finger down its length, she committed its heat, its texture to her memory, coupled with the musky male scent that was making her heart thud.

She leant forward, her hair a curtain over his hips and licked its head. Severus groaned, his fingers finding her hair and pushing it back from her face.

"I need to see you."

Hermione grinned up at him and swirled her tongue, the taste of salt and skin a joy that deepened her pulse. Was it who he was that made her want this, him so much? Almost a veela in his ability to draw women to him… But she didn't care. Not right now.

Severus was thick and long and she had little chance of fitting him all in her small mouth. But Lavender's hushed advice to Parvati threaded through her thoughts. Hermione drew in a breath, licked her lips and closed over him. Her insides clenched in satisfaction as he gritted his teeth. His hand free of her hair fisted the bedcovers, the knuckles showing white. Oh there was more. Lavender had promised she could make a boy's eyes roll back in his head. Hermione curled her tongue, her lips covering the tip of his dick and hollowed her cheeks.

Severus swore, his hips bucking up. Hermione pressed him down, her hand firm as the other wrapped around his thick length. His taste, the low groans that broke from him, the rhythmic grip and loosening of his hand in her hair drove her own desire. Her flesh was tight, aching, the chill air of the room playing against her sex.

Muttered words burst from the man beneath her and Hermione gasped at the feather-light touch against her clit. Her head span, her thighs trembling. Gods above, what other talents did this man have?

She took him deeper, her tongue flickering, half instructions, half instinct. Breathing him in, awash with sensation, his taste, the heavy scent of him, she could barely control herself, her fingers no doubt bruising his hip as her own needs roiled within her. Gods, she was close,  _so close_  again to coming.

"Hermione…" His voice hardly belonged to him, deep and desperate. "You have to stop. You have to… I'm about to come. Hermione…"

_Hers_. He was hers and she would have him. Her slick fingers drew over his flesh, feeling him thickening, laving him, taking yet more of him, wanting him to let go. And the relentless touch against her clit, as if his fingers, his tongue worked her, pushed her hard. She was almost there. Almost. If he came, then she, she would…

With an agonised groan, Severus came, his body jerking. Hermione gasped, white heat surging over her, even as she licked and swallowed, until she found herself in his arms. He held her too him, fierce, hard, his muscles still twitching. He buried his face in her hair and slowly, so slowly his laboured breathing eased.

"Where…" His voice was scratchy and he swallowed. "Where did you learn to do  _that_?"

Hermione huffed a laugh against his neck. "I shared a room with Lavender Brown for six years."

He pushed her messy hair from her damp face. Something moved in his eyes that she couldn't name. "You've had no…practical experience?"

"You are my first."

He kissed her, hard and slow, not seeming to care that she tasted of him. "Insufferable know-it-all."

She smirked and let her head rest on his chest as he flopped back into the thick pillows. A whisper and the sheets and blankets drew over them, cool now to her overheated skin. He murmured "nox" and the candles faded back, leaving only the flickering gold of the fire.

She released a long sigh and cuddled herself close. He'd exhausted her.  _Again_.

Severus offered a kiss to her hair. "Sleep," he murmured.

And she did.

* * *

Hermione pushed blearily up from a deep, dreamless sleep and found Severus wrapped around her, a large hand cupping her breast, his other caught on her hip, a thigh pushed between hers and his face buried in her wild hair. She smiled, her fingers stroking over the wiry strength of his forearm.

"I worry that I exhaust you." His breath brushed her ear, his deep rich voice rippling the familiar shiver over her flesh. "Two orgasms and you sleep like the dead."

Hermione pinched him and he grunted. "It would flatter your ego for me to say that it's the quality that affects me. So I won't say it."

He pulled her against him, his thumb stroking over a peaked nipple. Hermione sucked in a quick breath, her thighs tightening against his strong leg. "How could I be your first, Hermione?" He pushed aside her hair and pressed his mouth to her bare shoulder. "You're so delicious."

"You said it yourself. I'm an insufferable know-it-all. Books and magic came before an interest in boys. Men. And I only had one crush –besides the insanity of liking Gilderoy Lockhart— Ron Weasley." She sighed and snuggled back against him, enjoying the full heat of his bare skin against hers. "Though this summer, I realised he and I…"

"You're too different."

"Yes." She teased her fingers through his as he covered her breast, her gaze staring off into the darkness of the room. Moonlight gilded the heavy furniture with a thin silver shine. She couldn't imagine this with Ron. Lying together beneath warm and heavy sheets, their scents and limbs tangled, and simply talking. "He wanted to sleep with me. Badgered me. I thought that was the major difference, I had no interest in anything…like that with him."

"Should I take your interest in me as another stroke to my overblown ego?"

"You already know how skilled you are."

His lips brushed her ear and her breath hitched. "I tease your pleasure from you." His fingers drew slow patterns against her belly. "Inch by delicious inch." He smiled against her skin. "But I only have as much talent as you have desire."

Her limbs were liquid, falling before the power of his voice. As she always did. His dick was hard against her backside and she couldn't help her little wiggle. Severus growled at her, though the low rumble heated her flesh rather than cooled it. "You still won't let me have every delicious inch. Not properly."

Severus laughed and crushed her to him. "My little wanton witch."

Hermione squeaked, laughter breaking from her. Severus pressed light kisses to her neck and sighed against her skin. She closed her eyes, simply enjoying the feel of him wrapped around her. She felt safe in the warmth of their bed, in the darkness, caught in the strength of Severus' arms.  _Home_. He was her home now. And home was a place that held no secrets.

"I think Ron is the one who spoke to the  _Prophet_."

His fingers stroked her stomach in idle, soothing patterns. "The steak gave it away."

Soft laughter escaped. "Yes." She paused. "Thank you, for saying what you did."

"For threatening the entire student body?"

"Yes, that." She wriggled and turned in his arms. The slivers of moonlight traced his skin, but still with too much shadow to see him clearly. "The  _Prophet_  has always turned against me, given the slightest hint of wrong-doing. Whether real or imagined."

His long fingers brushed away the tangle of her hair from her face. "I promised to protect and honour you." He murmured the words against her forehead, his lips brushing her skin. "I've asked Kingsley to step in as he can. But there's little we  _can_  do to curb the paper's insanity."

"I know. Though my jealous obsession will explain the fights I'll get into with other women…"

His lips pressed more firmly to her forehead before his breath huffed against her hair. "That I'd not had such a busy summer."

"I'd never deny you that time." Her mouth found his jaw, planting kisses, even as her heart tightened. She couldn't ignore the brief swell of jealousy –that all those women had shared in someone who was  _hers_ — but it was who he was. Who he had become the moment her spell had wrapped around him and brought him back from the veil. She smiled. "And I'm reaping the rewards of your…practice."

"That you are, Madam Snape."

And with that, his mouth took hers.

* * *

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

Hermione stared at the copy of the  _Evening Prophet_  and fought the urge to blast it with her wand. It was milder than the previous day's piece. But only just. At least today, they hadn't obliquely compared her to Voldemort. Now Hermione 'Harpy' Snape –yes, it had become her official sobriquet— was more a woman on the make, using the Marriage Law to further her own ends.

_Harpy Snape grabs the most powerful wizard in Britain._

_The_ Evening Prophet _understands from a Ministry source that Madam Snape nee Granger had an incredible choice of wizards. When muggle-born witches are fortunate to have a pick of two wizards, Harpy Snape had thirty. Our journalists have seen the list. An interesting group of men, spanning the wealth and power of the wizarding world._

_How did this witch connive to have such choice? Was it the Ministry's attempt to pander to her status as a former girlfriend of Harry Potter ? And it's telling of her ambition. That with such a breadth of choice, she decides on the most powerful amongst them: Severus Snape._

_Again, does Headmaster Snape realise the raw ambition and deviousness of the witch to whom he is bound?_

_For Harpy Snape's ambitions, see page 4_

_For Headmaster, Professor Severus Snape's inspiring war efforts, see pages 5,6 and 7._

"They're doing the unbelievable," Harry muttered, throwing his copy of the paper down in disgust. "They're whitewashing Snape."

Hermione smiled at him. "That I don't mind at all. Severus deserves the recognition." She frowned at her cup of pumpkin juice. She needed tea. Hot and milky. The house elves had to be listening as a large mug of hot tea appeared beside her cleared plate and she sent up a silent thank you.

Harry narrowed his eyes as one of the Fourth Years grabbed his copy and began whispering and giggling with one of her friends. "Does this cause a problem between you two?" Harry looked up to the High Table, where the Headmaster was leaning in to talk to Hagrid. At least some of this the tension was easing between Severus and his staff. But then Hagrid couldn't hold a grudge in a large bucket... "This is the third time now they've printed a warning in the last line."

"This mornings' ' _Headmaster Snape, sleep with one eye open.'_  made him snort tea out of nose."

Hermione pressed her lips together to deny a brighter smile. Severus' laughter, rich and infectious, had pushed away any doubt she had about the paper influencing him. Though she'd poked him hard in the chest when he suggested they start sending in their own warnings.

Harry raised his eyebrows, a strange look in his eye. "Really?"

"Really." She patted his hand. "This causes me no trouble with him."

"Good." Harry dropped another jam tart on to his plate. The boy was going to turn into one, the amount he ate. He caught her eyeing it. "I like them."

"I've noticed."

He stuck his tongue out.

"So mature, Harry." She sipped her tea. "I have etiquette lessons with Professor McGonagall tonight." Her shoulders slumped. "I can feel my will to live draining away."

"But it's learning, Hermione." Harry smirked. She slid him a glare. "There will be piles of books to worm through. She might –if you're lucky— set essays and an exam. Then you can be  _marked_."

"I hate you."

Harry squeezed her hand. "It won't be so bad."

"I know. It's just that the Professor and I, we're not on the best of terms right now." Hermione shrugged, downed the rest of her tea and pushed herself away from the long table. She looked up, finding Severus' gaze on her. She gave him a quick smile, turned away and pressed a hand to Harry's the shoulder.

"Come to the Common Room after."

"If there's time."

"Hermione…" His mouth thinned and the humour left his face. "Is  _he_  stopping you from seeing us?"

She could say that Severus was, that he'd forbidden her involvement in the efforts to repeal the Marriage Law. It would be easy. People liked to think the worst of him. But she couldn't do that. Severus might not be hers, but she felt safe with him. He was home.

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing like that, but I do have a lot going on right now. My time's hardly my own—"

"You like being married to him."

She flicked a glance to the Headmaster, not wanting to believe it but knowing it was true. Severus frowned briefly. She twitched him a smile and looked back to Harry. "I can't explain it."

Harry ran his fingers through his hair and let out a slow breath. He lifted an eyebrow. "Have you eaten or drank anything that's tasted…strange?"

She poked her friend –hard— in the shoulder and glared at him. "He has not slipped me a potion. Severus Snape is a good man. And yes, I…I like him."

Harry rubbed his shoulder. He winced, then his face grew serious. "They are counting on something from you, Hermione."

"I know. I'll do what I can. When I can. You're taking minutes of meetings, disguised by charms?" His eye twitched and her mouth thinned. Had they simply been talking with no thought to structure or planning? "Then start with that and pass the notes to me. I'll look them over and see what I can add. Good enough?"

"Thanks, Hermione."

"No problem." She stretched her spine and rolled her neck. "I hope she doesn't make me walk with books on my head. Transfiguration books are  _heavy_."

Harry snickered and she gave him another glare, before turning away to leave the Great Hall. Her feet knew the way, the castle moving with her as she headed for McGonagall's office, lost in thought.

She  _did_  like him. She did. A lot. He was clever and powerful, something she quietly admitted to herself that she truly wanted in a wizard. The  _Prophet_  was right about that part of her personality. Though it didn't explain Ron. He had been her crush through most of her childhood and into early adulthood. He was funny, not exactly awash with magic, through he did have those rare flashes of brilliance. Was it that she'd simply been used to him?

The stairs stopped and Hermione walked forward, absently patting the stone banister. It had to be familiarity that kept her sights on Ron. She winced. Or the other factor that she'd acknowledged to Professor McGonagall, that boys simply hadn't seen her that way. With Ron, there'd always been…something.

But Severus… A hard twist in her belly almost forced her to gasp. And there was the difference. Thought of Ron came with vague memories of friendship and annoyance. Her husband made her want to backtrack to her rooms, throw herself at him and drag him off to his bed…

_"My dirty,_ dirty _little wife."_

Severus' words echoed in her head and her chest hollowed, a quick pulse of pleasure searing under her flesh. Her nipples peaked. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth and closed her eyes. Each encounter with him burned through her, piling on pleasures. It was a relief to her that he allowed her now to please him…

She groaned. She was standing in the middle of a school corridor, flushed and aroused. She drew in a cool breath and flapped her hands at her cheeks to drive away the heat in her face. It didn't work.

"Hermione."

Oh, there was a passion killer. She gritted her teeth and drew in a calming breath. "Professor Merrel, I really would prefer it if you would use my title. My name is Madam Snape."

He was grinning at her and she had to wonder if there was a hint of clabbert in his family tree. He nodded, and didn't repeat it. He had no intention of using her proper name ever again. Bastard.

"I'm glad I found you. I'd welcome your opinions on a film module I plan to run. I intend," he leaned in and the sharp scent of the muggle cologne he wore burned her senses, "to take the accelerated students out to a cinema complex."

Hermione fought to push down her dislike. Was this a genuine request? She was the only muggle-born taking the NEWT. Even the half-bloods on the course had been brought up on the wizarding side of their families. She should say no. She didn't like him. He made her skin crawl. But it was an interesting idea… Damn him.

"I don't know what help I can be, Professor."

"Peter."

She ignored his request as he had ignored hers. "As I said yesterday, I've been out of the muggle world for a year, if not longer."

"You still summered with your family in…Hampshire."

Hermione's wand hand itched. How did he know where she was from? As a professor, he had access to her school file, but why was he so interested in her? The warning Severus had give her about the pureblood game of wife stealing rolled through her thoughts. "I did, but my parents weren't great watchers of films." Sometimes she wished they had been. She'd been dragged along to experimental theatre one time too many.

"But you have been to the cinema?"

"Yes."

"Then you will help me?"

"Professor…"

"Peter."

She wanted to growl at him. "I have an extracurricular lesson with Professor McGonagall now. Sunday afternoon. I can spare you half an hour."

"I'll expect you in my office after lunch." He gave her a short bow and that hint of a dark smile that she  _did not_  like. "Until then."

She stepped back before he could touch her. She gave him a tight smile. "Goodnight, Professor."

"Good night, Hermione."

The witch swore under her breath. A clabbert and the solid head of a troll. His ancestors had been a busy set of people. She had to wonder if Severus had spoken to the man. She watched Merrel stalk the corridor, disappearing in the shadows. Even if he had, she wondered if the thick-headed wizard would take any notice.

Putting the annoying man from her thoughts, she walked the short distance to McGonagall's office. She drew in a breath, battling to find her calm. Merrel hadn't helped at all. In the end, she had to admit defeat and knocked on the solid door.

A muffled "Enter" followed and Hermione stepped into the familiar room. The fire blazed and lamps light the wide space. She crossed the rug that had been littered with her proposals and it seemed as if months had passed, not only a few days.

Minerva McGonagall sat at her desk, piles of parchment stacked neatly around her. She sat straight in her tall, padded chair, her hands clasped lightly on the smooth wooded surface. "Please, sit, Miss…" Her thin lips twitched. "Hermione."

Hermione stopped herself from frowning. Was she refusing to call her Madam Snape? She sat and said nothing, bristling. First Merrel and now her old Head of House.

"The Headmaster has informed me that you need lessons in wizarding etiquette."

Not Severus. Not her husband. Was McGonagall annoyed by their binding? "Yes, as his wife, I'm to attend a variety of functions. And how to act in more formal society is not something I've had to look into."

Another small smile. Tension thickened between them and it felt strange. Hermione had always looked up to the older witch, now her attitude was grating. "I imagine not."

"Professor," Hermione lifted her chin, her will straightening her spine. Her stomach was knotted, "can I ask why you have a problem with my marriage?"

McGonagall blinked and a light flush touched her cheek. Her lips pinched. "How can I not have a  _problem_  with it, as you say?" Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but the older witch had charged on, "It is a disgrace. I understand what he is." Her pale eyes pinned Hermione, and in that moment, she know that McGonagall had taken the Unbreakable Vow to hold Severus' secret. "But how he has behaved over the summer, and how he will behave with  _you_. I cannot countenance it. I simply can't."

She huffed out a tight breath. "You are such an honourable girl."

"Thank you for trying to protect me."

And Hermione knew that's what it was now. They'd stressed her purity as a part of the binding, and Minerva had seen how Severus had taken almost everything with a pulse. Hermione ignored the fist in her chest, she couldn't change that part of his past. It was something they would both simply would have to simply…ignore.

Hermione chose her next words carefully. "Severus'…behaviour is a part of who he is. What he has become. And with me he is still the honourable man he was before."

The fact that she wished he wasn't, that she would happily beg for him to take her and fuck her so hard that she screamed, didn't need to be said. Not to the prim Transfiguration Professor. And it wasn't a lie. He  _was_  honourable. He always would be.

Minerva looked at her hands and the tightness and strain in her shoulders seemed to ebb away. "I am so worried for you, child."

"Thank you, but I am fine." Hermione gave her a real smile. "I am…happy."

The Professor looked up in surprise. "Truly?"

"Severus is a good man."

"That he is," the older witch murmured softly. She pressed her hands together and straightened, her chin lifting. She was Professor McGonagall again, even to the point of peering hard over her glasses. "All right, Madam Snape." Her smile was tight and sharp, her eyes gleaming. "Tell me what you know about wizarding etiquette and we'll begin to fill in the gaps."

* * *

Hermione flopped into her usual chair before the fire and Severus looked up from his book. He lifted an eyebrow.

"I know nothing about wizarding etiquette." She poured herself a cup of tea from the little pot on the table and wrapped her chilled hands around it. "Minerva gave me a list of books I have to hunt out for next week."

"Minerva, now is it?"

Mocking doubt wrapped around the question and Hermione resisted the need to poke her tongue out at him. She was, after all, more mature than Harry Potter.

"She may be on better terms with you tomorrow." She smirked at him from around her cup. "She was horrified at what you could be doing to me to besmirch my honour. Which is rather sweet, really."

"Minerva has often had a low opinion of me."

"No." Hermione kicked off her shoes and sank back into the soft warmth of the chair, curling her legs underneath her. "I think your rather…active summer disturbed her sensibilities. She's quite prim and proper."

"And she saw that reflected in you."

"Yes. Though unlike Minerva, I'm quite happy for you to debauch me."

Severus' eyes narrowed. "I'd noticed."

"I pointed out to her that you've been nothing but honourable." She stared into her mug. "She knows what you are. She must have taken the Vow."

Severus closed over his book, his large hand resting on the leather cover. "She realised that even if the Marriage Law ends, this marriage will not. Which is why, I suspect, she was so panicked and angry when we became betrothed."

She looked up, suddenly unsure, but she'd promised herself no lies. Not here, when it was only them. "I told her I was happy."

Severus blinked, and the hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. "Is that so, Madam Snape?"

Her lips twitched, denying her own smile. She did love that title. Especially the way his voice curled around it, dark and rich and almost thoroughly indecent. She glanced up at the clock. Just after ten. "Did you see that we're late? And I thought you were so punctual, Headmaster."

"A bossy little chit was keeping me from this very important appointment." He put his book aside and rose from his chair. He wasn't wearing his coat, with his linen shirt rumpled and open at the throat. She wanted to nuzzle that exposed line of skin. "But I'm done with her now."

"Are you?" She took his offered hand, a smile desperate to break free. She liked this Severus, playful and most definitely hot. "I'm sure you could do more."

His dark eyes fixed on her, a touch of mockery firing through them. "Really, Madam Snape," he murmured, pulling her close, his lips finding her ear. "You can so much better than that." His breath stirred her skin and she shivered, her hand tightening around his. "Only this from the witch who wanted me to fuck her before a thousand years of ruling wizards?"

Hermione's eyes closed, her chest lifting as she fought to find steady breaths. His voice was pure sin. It was little wonder women fell before him. "What would you have me say?"

"Oh, my wanton little wife." Severus drew back, and his smile was wicked. "Did it please you to whisper such…depravity?"

Her belly coiled tight, the ache between her thighs deepening. She couldn't lie to him. Didn't want to. The idea of whispering her fantasies to him surged her pulse. She wet her lips and she couldn't help the eagerness that heated her excited, "Yes."

He kissed her hand, pressing her palm to her lips and his tongue teasing across its lines. His obsidian eyes held her. "Then where, Madam Snape, would you have me take you next?"

* * *

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

* * *

****Hermione caught damp, trembling fingers in her hair and collapsed into the plumpness of hot pillows. Her body ran with shakes, her thoughts skewed. The damn man could twist her into a Gordian knot before he sliced through with her release…

"Post orgasmic classical references?" Severus chuckled as he propped himself up beside her, his finger tracing a shivery path over her breast bone. "You really are a know-it-all."

She rolled her eyes to him, trying to work up the extra energy to glare. Her nipple tightened under the circle of his determined finger and she hissed.

"Still too sensitive?" he murmured, his dark eyes molten, that wicked little curve to his firm lips racing after the echoes of her last orgasm. He let out a long breath and glanced to the window. The first smudges of dawn warmed the sky. "Have breakfast with me this morning."

"At the High Table?" She deliberately raked her eyes over the sheets that hid his body from her. "Early morning fondling?"

He snorted. "That's something for the new year. No." He lay beside her, staring up at the dark canopy and it felt…companionable and strangely more intimate that the acts they had performed on each other through the night… "Here. We should share a meal together, Hermione."

Her heart pattered in an odd rhythm and it almost dizzied her. She fought the grin that wanted to break from her. "I'd love to." Her hand was a nervous fist, her fingers curling and uncurling as she grasped her courage and ran a finger over the curve of his bicep. The urge to follow her cautious touch with her mouth burned. She shoved it down. Hard. He wasn't hers. "I am jealously guarding you in your chambers." She smirked. "You're tied to my bed and at my mercy…"

"Really?"

His purely sinful voice curled around the question and more heat warmed her cheeks. At some point in the night, he'd woken her and with gleaming eyes, pinned her arms and legs to the bed with a murmured spell. She's writhed, bucked, but his mouth and fingers had driven her to a searing climax, that left her only half-aware as he pulled her into his arms and she found sleep again.

"You're insatiable," she murmured.

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead, her eyes drifting shut and her chest tightened under the gesture of affection. "As are you, my wife." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "It's almost seven. We must ready ourselves for the day."

Hermione didn't want to move from their bed. She frowned. Could she grab more time? "I have Defence first lesson." She lost focus as she watched Severus pad across the room, his absent flick at the embers in the fire, bursting it to fresh life. Lean framed with alabaster skin licked by firelight, he was beautiful and he really did have the most perfect,  _perfect_  arse…

"Madam Snape?"

She blinked, only breaking from her daze as he swung on a long, dark dressing gown. She wet her dried lips, trying not to wince at the amusement lurking in his eyes. "Defence, yes. We could…stay. Here." She pressed her lips together, her nerves almost defeating her. "As there's no professor…"

"I have found a replacement for Defence. An Auror. Theogenes Drake. He's worked under Kingsley for years. Solid and practical. He'll be a good fit."

"Oh."

He smirked at her. "You should have tied me to the bed when you had the chance, madam."

Her lips pursed. "I'll remember that next time."

"Be sure you do."

* * *

After her shower, and wrangling her frizzing hair into a ponytail, Hermione found Severus in his study, the breakfast things already spread out across the table. He looked her over, lifting an eyebrow at the long plum-coloured dressing gown cinched at her waist.

"I think neither of us would feel comfortable if I sat here in my uniform."

Severus allowed this with a nod, pouring her tea into a mug and adding a generous splash of milk. His own was the colour of teak and she shivered at the strong brew. Hermione savoured hers, sinking back into her chair and letting her gaze fall on the books, strange jars and interesting paraphernalia decorating the cosy little room. She could grow used to this. A quiet meal with her husband.

"Tired?" He picked out ham and cheeses, bread and fruit from the selection crowding the round table.

"Hmm?" Hermione focused on him, then blushed as what he had asked penetrated her thoughts. She placed her mug on table and set about adding food to her plate. "Professor Drake, he was chosen by you?"

Severus snorted softly at her blunt change of subject. "Yes by me, and approved by the Board of Governors."

"Good." She buttered a thick slice of bread. "Don't let Minvera decide, ever again."

Severus stilled. "Merrel."

Hermione winced. She hated this. That she had to go to Severus to solve her problems. She'd always relied on herself.

"Hermione." He placed his warm hand briefly over hers, stopping her attack on the bread with her knife. "This is not a failure on your part. I have no doubt you could flatten the idiot.  _No doubt_. Bringing it to me is a professional matter too."

"He makes me…uneasy." She shrugged, wanting to lessen, not the seriousness, but the importance of Merrel's attitude…yet his refusal to use her title still rankled. "He has no respect for my position as your wife." She sighed. "He has a trip planned and wants my opinion, as a muggle-born."

"The film excursion."

"Yes. I've promised him half an hour on Sunday. After lunch. Though I pointed out, I'd be no help. My parents preferred the avant-garde. I can't tell you how many times I've sat through the tedium of an Ionescu play."

"Sadists."

Hermione laughed. "They're dentists. It's a given."

A pleasant silence followed and it was nice not to have the air filled with the constant debate over the minutiae of quidditch, or having Ginny making unsubtle suggestions about her love life. She popped a grape into her mouth, fighting a grin. It was rather nice to have a love life…

An owl tapped at the window and with a wave of his wand, Severus admitted it to the room. It dropped the Daily Prophet into his hand and accepted a curl of ham as a reward. With a soft hoot, it left on silent wings and the window shut firmly behind it.

Hermione frowned, her pleasant thoughts broken. "What sin am I committing today?"

Severus unrolled the paper and snorted. "I must take extra caution as you'll try to hold me to you with illegal lust potions." He glanced at her, his eyebrow arched. "Though by openly defending you seems, I am already caught by your evil allure." His mouth lifted at one corner and her heart tightened, his look one of pure carnality. "This, of course, is completely true."

She couldn't stop the grin that broke from her. "And you still deny that you're sweet."

"Naturally, I deny it." He lifted his chin, a proper Snape scowl twisting his features. "I am the most hated teacher in the history of this school."

She wagged a finger at him. "Ah, not any more. I've seen the looks you get now."

He scowled. "I do not need that reminder. Professors Hooch and Sprout were huddled –cackling— in the staffroom yesterday, projecting their thoughts so fiercely one wand wave would've made them visible."

Hermione tried not to smile. She failed. "Dare I ask?"

He hacked away a piece of cheese. "The theory of noses and hands in comparison to other anatomical parts."

"It's true." She smirked at him. "Obviously."

"It's unprofessional."

"You're beautiful, Severus." He glared at her and her stomach knotted at making such a statement, but it was a fact. "You are. And you exude sex appeal. You can't deny that either." And there were Merlin knew how many witches who could attest to it. She pushed down that uncomfortable thought. "Add to that a new, young wife. This place is a crucible made for gossip. You can't fight it."

Severus dropped the paper on the table and sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and his anger was almost a vibration through his flesh. His ring gleamed in the soft ray of light shafting through the window and guilt pricked at Hermione again. He'd said she shouldn't feel responsible…but still, she did. He was bound by her. And that binding was exposing a very private man to ridicule.

She focused on her breakfast, though the bread tasted sour in her mouth. She willed herself to breathe evenly and picked out thoughts of her apprenticeship to occupy her mind. She swallowed and the food was a lump in her chest. Damn it. And it had been such a joy to sit with him.

"They've always been cackling hags," he murmured. She looked up at him and he twitched a smile. His eyes had little shine and she wanted to wrap her arms around him. Offer comfort –her heart lurched— and love. "I have always been at the centre of their amusements. I thought, finally, making fun of my appearance would end now."

"Bitches!" Hermione bit out the word. Her face flushed and she slapped her hand to her mouth. "Sorry." Her brows drew together, the fury in her blood increasing. He had worked tirelessly, selflessly for decades and those two  _cows_  had derided his exhausted appearance?  _Fuck_. "No actually, I'm not. Complete and utter bitches."

Severus' smile grew. "Thank you." He cast a tempus charm. After half-eight. Defence started at nine. "Get changed and I'll walk you to your lesson."

Hermione drained her tea and stood. "Oh, you are  _completely_  trapped by my evil allure."

"Obviously."

She couldn't help her soft laughter and grinned at him as she escaped to her suite of rooms. In their silence, with the door shut on Severus' siting room, she pressed her fist to her breast bone. Her heart was thudding, her mind almost dizzy. The need to protect Severus had burst over her, wild and fierce, the need to comfort him pushing just as hard.

For a moment, she closed her eyes and let the anger drain away, until the  _other_  feeling swelled through her. She'd been married less than a week. She didn't –she  _couldn't_ — love him.

* * *

Students flowed around them in the corridors as if they were buffeted back by a shield charm. Hermione pressed her hand to her mouth to deny a smile. So eager not to encroach on the strangeness of their marriage. But her smile faded as other sensations hit her. Too many eyes moved over her, and especially over Severus. A Sixth Year girl stood stock still and practically devoured Severus with her gaze as he passed. Four younger girls huddled and whispered, eyes shining. She could almost feel the pulse of their want.

Her hand rested in the crook of Severus' arm, and she couldn't help the clenching of her fingers in the warm soft wool of his sleeve. She eased it back to a gentle, rhythmic stroke. She trusted him. He would never betray her. And never  _ever_  with a student.

"Madam," Severus murmured, leaning into her as the approached the Defence against the Dark Arts tower, the corridor thankfully empty of lust-filled students, "if you do not wish to find yourself accosted in an alcove, please desist."

The promise in his voice pricked her skin and offered absolutely no incentive for her to stop the slip of her fingers over his arm. And she had been a bushy-haired bookworm. She had  _never_  had the illicit joy of dragging a boy into the shadows whilst he had his wicked way with her…

"Would this be a fantasy I should make real?"

Her eyes closed.  _Fuck_. She had to do something about projecting her thoughts. Her obvious desires. She had a whole day of lessons and Severus had her hot, wet and ready at nine in the morning.

He smirked against her ear, she could feel it. Smug bastard. "I take it that I should." He drew back, easing her clenching hand from his arm. His lips brushed her knuckles, his eyes dark and endless. "Enjoy Defence today, Madam Snape." And with a swept of his teaching robes, he was gone.

Hermione pressed her hands to her face and groaned. Evil man. Evil. She blew out a long, slow breath and willed herself calm and cool. It didn't help. And now time was against her. Not wanting to make a bad impression on another Defence Professor, she hurried to the classroom and slipped inside. The rest of the accelerated students were already seated, though there was no sign of their new teacher.

Hermione thankfully sat next to Harry and gave him a quick smile. "I hear this Professor is an auror."

"You weren't at breakfast." Harry lifted both eyebrows and gave a knowing, almost salacious look that would've been equally at home on his wife. Ginny really was a bad influence.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We had breakfast together." She made a discrete point of her finger to the twisting staircase and the office beyond it. "Theogenes Drake. Was he at breakfast?"

"McGonagall introduced him, since the  _Headmaster_  was also missing from breakfast…"

She huffed an annoyed breath and her mouth pinched together. "Breakfast. Eating. Sneering at the morning paper."

Harry grinned at her. "Ginny's right. You  _are_  easy to wind up." She growled at him and he lifted his hands. "All right. Theogenes Drake. Huge. Easily seven feet tall. Looks like there was a hint of giant in his not too distant past. He didn't speak, just stood, nodded and sat."

The door to the classroom slammed. Hermione jumped and grabbed her wand, Harry doing the same. Others seeing them, followed.

"How disappointing…"

Hermione's stomach turned over. No.  _No._  That slow, sneering languid drawl. He wouldn't… He wasn't… She inched her head to the shadows behind her and caught Severus' dark grin. Bastard.  _He_  would be teaching them. Well, if he thought there was going to be fellatio in his future  _ever_  again—

His grin deepened and she flushed. Evil Legilimens.

"We are not on a war footing." Severus swept to the front of the classroom and turned. His familiar sneer was in place. Hermione felt as if she'd been thrown back in time. "However…"

His rich voice curled around the word she was thankful it wasn't her Sixth Year. Severus Snape having  _that_  reaction on her insides –a heated tension that forced her to press her thighs together— would have mortified her.

"You must still be prepared to defend yourself. Even in a time of peace, the magical world is a dangerous one. There will be no duels today." And his gaze moved over her, a hint of dark amusement lurking in his eyes. "I want an assessment of the protective charms you can cast." He waved his hand. "Stand, go to the sides of the room."

The desks and chairs moved with another wave of his hand, arranging themselves neatly, the chairs stacking. "I  _believe_ ," and he poured scorn on the single word, "that a number of you can cast the patronus charm. Do so now."

He caught his hands behind his back. "For those of you who do not, the charm is  _'Expecto Patronum_ ' and you must pull in a bright memory, fix it, hold it, let the singular joy of that moment suffuse you.  _Burn_  within you."

Hermione blinked, too lost in the rich, rhythmic flow of his voice to think about casting. More than one girl was equally mesmerised. Already Harry's stag bounded through the air, followed by Ron's rabid little terrier. Neville –whose patronus had always been a vague mist— now looked suspiciously like a giant snake.

Severus lifted an eyebrow. "Really, Longbottom?"

Neville shrugged and for a moment, a blissful moment that Hermione basked in, amusement seemed to bounce between the two of them. She bit her lip to deny her grin.

"Madam Snape, are you not going to grace us with your…otter, I believe it is?"

She gave him a short smile. "Yes, sir."

Hermione waved her wand, fixing the memory of lying next to Severus that morning, happy, simply so happy, and declared, " _Expecto Patronum_."

A cloud of silver burst form her wand, her otter, writhing within it…but it sputtered and faded. She frowned. The memory was good, her wand movements and declaration precise and clear. It  _should_  have worked. Something twisted in her stomach. No. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

Severus was also frowning and a muscle jumped in his tightened jaw. Others were looking now, their charms dissipating to a silver mist before vanishing completely. Ron smirked at her and crossed his arms. Did he want to laugh that her marriage to Severus had changed her patronus? What did he think she'd show? A giant bat? Yes, he did. It was there in his pale, mocking gaze. Not that he'd voice his suspicions out loud. Not with Severus right there.

Anger coursed through her. So what if it had changed? She didn't give a fuck if it  _was_  a bat. She was Severus' wife. She cared for him. She…she loved him. Hermione lifted her chin and cast again, clear and strong, her gaze fixed on Ron, her mind filled with the scent, the touch, the promise of her husband.

Brilliant light flared from her wand, a huge arc of it, raining down over the classroom floor. A shape moved within it, slow, rhythmic, almost an undulating dance of…something. And then it formed. Startled gasps broke out around the room, more than one student falling back, scrambling over desks to escape it.

A huge, silver-skinned acromantula –thick bodied and legs as sturdy as strong branches— paced the floor. Hermione stared at it, her heart in her throat. It had to be as big as Aragog. Why, by Merlin's little green apples, did she have a fucking great  _spider_? What did that say about her and Severus? What did it mean?

Her gut tighted. His ring. She'd made a joke about cobwebs and acromantula silk… Was this monstrosity evidence of her binding of him?

"Hermione, what the hell…?"

She focused at Ron's strangled question. Her patronus had stalked across the floor, Ron directly in its path. He couldn't move, frozen to the spot, his mouth gaping and his eyes wide. His whole body shook. A dark smile lifted her mouth. Perhaps this would  _finally_ stop him?

Her patronus arched, its cephalothorax lifting, lurching forward as its palps smacked and its front legs reached out for him.

Hermione tilted her head as the silvered tarsal claw of its nearest leg drew a slow,  _slow_  line down his taut cheek. "What, Ron? You don't like him? I think he's wonderful."

"It's..." The spider's fangs flared out. Ron stiffened, screamed. And fainted.

Severus let out a long sigh and looked down at the fallen boy. He toed him with his boot. Ron didn't move. "Madam Snape, must you litter?"

Hermione closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her face. Fuck. Was she going to have a normal Defence lesson  _ever_ again?

* * *

 

 


End file.
